The Vileness of Man
by LoveShattersWindows
Summary: Full description in first chapter. Takes place 7 years after Dishonored. After being convicted of heresy by the new High Overseer, Corvo is forced to recuse himself from Emily's service to protect her image. How will the empire fair without our beloved Lord Protector, and how will he return to the empress' side? Carefully supports the notion that Corvo is NOT Emily's father. CxE
1. Prologue

Full Description: It's been seven years since the events that shook Dunwall and placed a child monarch on the throne. Empress Emily patiently awaits for her Golden Era to arise from the rat-infested shadows, and begs for the day that peace will calm the land. But peace is a fragile thing, just opaque enough to obscure the vileness of man.

After being convicted of heresy by the new head of the Abbey of the Everyman, High Overseer Gregor Parrish, Corvo Attano is forced to recuse himself from Emily's service in a desperate effort to protect her image. How will the empire fair without our beloved Lord Protector, and how will he return to the empress' side? Carefully supports the notion that Corvo is NOT Emily's father. Corvo x Emily. Rated M for future sections of graphic romance and violent themes.

_**Author's Note: This story will be written in two POV's, first and third. The majority of the first half of this fic will be written from Corvo's perspective as he attempts to write an autobiography, or thinks back to prior events. In these cases, the words will be italized. All third person/current action will be in regular font style.**_

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**The Vileness of Man: Mission One — Prologue**

"_The Tales of a Lord Protector__ by Corvo Attano _

_Foreword:_

_ My name is Corvo Attano. For over twenty years I have protected the monarch of the Isles and her family from treason, safeguarding her health, sovereignty, and reputation under the title of Lord Protector. As I am writing this, it has been nearly seven years since the assassination of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin when the Royal Spymaster, Hiram Burrows, initiated a coup d'état to usurp the throne._

_ I failed in my duties to protect my charge, an event that still haunts me today. The only thing I could (and did) do to attempt to reconcile my horrible mistake was to hunt down and systematically destroy the people who murdered my empress and kidnapped her daughter, heiress to the empire, Emily Kaldwin. I had to assure Emily's rightful succession, not just in order to restore balance to a broken land, but also to alleviate my guilty conscious. _

_ It was a tribulating journey, filled with heresy, prudence, and betrayal, but in the end I took my (and Jessamine's) revenge without shedding a drop of blood. Emily was restored to Dunwall Tower and my thirst for revenge had been sated. While initially I wanted to turn tail to my homeland, Serkonos, and continue to shamefully lick my wounds, the child monarch took my hand and with an innocent smile, asked me to help her guide her empire into a golden era. I never could deny that smile. _

_ And yet here I sit, seven years later, in the dank hull of a small fishing ship headed back towards my homeland, hundreds of miles south of Dunwall…and my empress. How did I end up here, as a shell of my former self, and why have I left my charge? Well, that's where my story begins. _

_ The best way to tell a story, I've discovered among my many years, is to start at the end, and move back to the beginning, occasionally moving back to the end for dramatic effect. I've never written a book and hardly any letters bear my signature. In fact, the only pieces of parchment I recall working upon apart from my schooldays resolved themselves in the form of imperial reports. I am not an "enlightened" man. I do not dabble in poetry or construct epics, nor do I paint or pretend to understand art and fashion. In fact, the only reason I'm writing this book is because I feel as if I must leave something physical behind before I depart this world. It will be called, __The Tales of a Lord Protector__, or perhaps, __The Life of Corvo Attano__—I have yet to completely decide on the title."_

The crinkling sound of paper echoed off the wooden walls of the dim cabin as the sour man crumbled yet another page of his scarcely started autobiography. It would be the fourth time he restarted his book, with his handwriting growing more incoherent and his thoughts less organized with each new attempt. His head had begun to swell with pain from the effort it took to structure his rampant thoughts, and the ink from his emptied fountain pen seeped messily into the creases of his cramped, coarse hands. He tiredly began to massage his aching wrists, bitterly staring at the black mark stamped onto his left hand. Though it seemed strange, the farther the ship seemed to sail from its point of origin, the more the mark seemed to physically burn, causing him to mildly wince from the minor singeing pain.

Its archaic curves and spines puffed outward from his olive skin, glaring menacingly at Corvo as he reluctantly drifted farther from his charge. It was as if the Outsider himself was spiting him, although realistically the god-like trickster couldn't care less for the petty dramas of mortals. His mark blessed those he deemed worthy by his own set of twisted ideals independent from status, birth, and even morals. The ex-Lord Protector just so happened to have chanced upon being interesting enough to receive his gift. Perhaps it itched because the actions he was currently embarking seemed too predictable for the thrill-seeking deity, or perhaps it was entire psychological, daring him to find any reason to swim feverishly back to his empress' side. Yet, it was all because of that damned mark that he was here in the first place.

His dark eyes swarmed with anger as he cleared his desk in a fit of rage. Parchment flew into the air, empty vials of ink rolled loudly onto the wooden floor, and a large chunk of amber colored stone hit ground with a low thud. The monotonous swaying of the small ship and gurgling churns of the ocean's vicious waves slapping against the hull was beginning to get to him. Luckily, he didn't get seasick, despite the fact it had been years since he had been on any sea vessel other than a dingy. It didn't take him long to regain his composure. Letting out an elongated sigh, he retrieved the smooth stone brooch from the floor and shoved it back into one of trouser pockets without looking at it.

The cabin itself was nothing compared to the life of luxury Corvo had grown accustomed to while living in Dunwall Tower, but he was not a pretentious man. Any place with a bed and a decent view would do, and that was about the extent of the small room. Apart from a wooden desk tucked neatly against one wall of his below deck compartment, the only other items that furnished the area was a small metal-framed bed, a catty-corner beverage cupboard with a whale-oil lamp glowing a dim blue, and fixed wall sink with a small mirror hanging above it. The water that flowed from faucet as Corvo turned the rusty knob was a milky white and metallic in taste. He splashed the cool water on his face and forcefully scrubbed his palms, trying to clean away his ink stained hands with no avail. Turning the water off with an agitated groan, he looked up at the mirror and gazed into its silver glass.

For someone with such a rugged complexion, he was rather handsome, although he was too modest to admit it to even himself. His thick, rust-colored locks gently framed his stalwart façade, and his long bangs hung wispily over rich brown eyes. Patches of chin stubble gave him almost an aloof appearance, but age pulled at his features, sinking in his steely eyes and generating a more sapient aura about him. If he wasn't dressed in such a gentlemanly fashion, someone could have easily mistaken him for a whaler or street ruffian simply because of the severe manner of which he conducted himself. He wasn't a particularly friendly person anyways, and the circumstances surrounding his presence on the ship made him that much more reluctant to leave his small bedroom. In fact, only a few of the ship's meager crew had actually met the noble hermit gracing their otherwise unimportant ship, and those that had seen him remarked on him barely speaking a word.

The ship Corvo was sailing upon was of modest caliber. It was a relatively small fishing vessel, used mainly for smaller species of fish, such as the hoards of hagfish that infested Dunwall's rivers. It wasn't the latest model by any means, and still used a sail as a primary means of propulsion, despite it having a trans-powered turbine engine. Although, finding any form of technology that didn't run off of trans was nigh impossible anyways. The exterior of the vessel was made out a lightweight metal that all Gristol-built ships incorporated in their designs. It seemed like the only place you could still see wooden clipper boats was in the southern parts of Serkonos. It had been rented out specifically to secretly carry the former Lord Protector to the southern country by the newest high overseer, High Overseer Gregor Parrish.

Corvo's throat burnt with hatred for that name as he choked down his anger, a sensation that could only be quelled by the taste of strong alcohol. Grudgingly, he moved to the small catty-corner cupboard and knelt, opening the wooden door to search its interior for a bottle of liquor. It had been a while since the sour taste of booze had quenched his lips, and he was almost looking forward to its sweet release. As he fumbled around in the dark hole, his hands fell onto something soft and warm, which skittered out of his grasp and made him recoil from the shock. A white rat scurried out of the shadowy cabinet and into the man's view, and meekly began to gnaw on Corvo's thick boot. It wasn't a vicious fit of bites, like those of the plague-infested rats still swarming Dunwall's sewers. No, it was almost playful in a way, which made the belligerent man crack a faint smile.

"Are you a stowaway too?" he whispered to the rat, which at the sound of the voice ran and hid back into the cupboard.

Perhaps stowaway wasn't the correct term to describe himself, but he sure did feel like one. The entire reason he was on board of this ship was to be quietly taken to Serkonos without the empress', or anyone else's knowledge. He had snuck away from his charge, and all to protect her image. The reason for his departure would have been quite damaging it met by the public eye, as so he was given a simple choice: either to leave Dunwall that night or be ousted tomorrow via the Broadcast Center to the entire city. Political matters such as these were to be tread upon carefully, as to not leave a wake of destruction by being overzealous, a realization Corvo knew all too well. His choice, although not particularly a hard one, infuriated him just the same. Surely he would eventually return to his empress' service, but how long it was until the dust had settled would not be for him to decide.

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_**A little short for a first chapter, and a little hazy, but it will all come to play soon enough. I need reviews to make sure I'm doing well enough to continue, and that enough people like it enough. So please, REVIEW! Any criticism is treasured, as long as it's not hateful, because that's not helpful at all. **_

_**I'm a huge fan of Dishonored, and I beat it with Low Chaos with Ghost and Clean Hands, which is the trail this story will follow. Despite how the game strongly suggests a relationship between Corvo and Jessamine, I love how the designers left it fairly ambiguous to allow me to construct the pairing of Corvo x Emily. Hopefully I see other fans of this pairing, and for those who don't believe it can be done, I hope to show you a personal interpretation later on.**_

_**Edit 12/20/12: The time period has been changed from five to seven years after an unfortunate discovery that Emily was 10 during Dishonored, and not 12 as I had originally thought.  
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	2. A Child's Game

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Two — A Child's Game**

_"Chapter 2, Page 24:_

_As I'm writing this, it's been nearly six years since the Royal Physician Anton Sokolov and his partner, Piero Joplin, created a cure for the rat plague, though remnants of that dark time still persist today. Although fairly harmless now, the plague has not entirely been eradicated, and tales of Weepers and throngs of rats being spotted in the sewers of Dunwall still can be heard. Though slowly recovering, as it stands now, the capital is in shambles. Thousands of citizens are homeless—their apartments and neighborhoods either quarantined or eternally condemned from the plagues' destruction. And though the empress' issued embargo was slowly coming to an end (for fear the rats would spread to external regions), Dunwall found itself in immense debt, one from which I fear it will not climb out of for many years. _

_Yet the rich continue to celebrate in their abundance without delay, leaving the young Empress Emily to solemnly brood high in her tower, her heart bleeding for her impoverished and malnourished masses. How she wishes for her "golden era" to rise from the dank shadows, leaving back these dark times and looking forward to a bright future. However, it will be a long time before that era will come and until then a false peace will obscure the land. _

_After Emily was restored to Dunwall Tower and crowned empress, the first order of business was to deal with the remnants of the corrupted government that plunged the city into this state of depravity. The first official removed from court was First Commander Gregory, second in command to General Tobias, who was found to be the one that ordered the guards away from their posts on the day of Empress Jesssamine's assassination. Though Tobias was the head of the castle guard, he was reportedly ill that day and was absent from the Tower, and despite him also being one of Hiram Burrow's top generals, he insisted his service was secular to the rightful heir, which was the Lord Regent at the time. The commander was hanged for treason last Fall, and numerous other guards and a few members of Parliament were also relieved of their duties for being seemingly sympathetic toward Lord Regent Burrow's tyranny._

_It should be noted that because Emily was only ten when she took the throne, Parliament wished for her to be assigned a regent to advice her actions. At first she asked me to advice her, but I declined. I'm not an ambitious man; I never wanted a seat of power. All I wished for was to protect my empress to my fullest extent and these duties would surely by compromised if it had been me who had advised her. So Parliament assigned her one of their own, Lord Lucius Banister, a nobleman from Potterstead. He served her up until last year, when Emily turned sixteen. He was rather upset when his power was dissolved, but I believe it was for the best, for Emily's voice was severely muted while he was her regent, but I will talk more about him later on._

_The last person who was replaced was the High Overseer. Campbell had long since been dealt with, left to rot in the Flooded District as a Weeper, and his successor, Teague Martin, soon followed him to the grave. Thus a new High Overseer was proclaimed by the Abbey of the Everyman, High Overseer Gregor Parrish. Parrish, in one word, is a fundamentalist. The Abbey's code is law and everything below that is heresy, or at least that's his way of thinking. Poor Emily, I can only imagine how she'll feel this time tomorrow, for surely by then she will have discovered the reason for my absence. I suppose I had it coming to me in a way, for "great power involves great responsibility" as the saying goes, and I was reckless with my gift."_

The stark scent of salt burnt Corvo's nose as he carefully closed the half-written chapter, and decided to retire for the night. It was late, the empty black sky would attest to that. And though he had been sailing for only a few hours, it felt like longer and the exhaustion combined with a lingering headache begged him to shut his eyes. He tossed his navy frock coat over his desk chair and hastily unbuckled the metal neck plate fastened around his neck. As he sat on his bed, its rusted frame squeaked under his weight and the corroded facets shifted uneasily from age. He kicked off his thick leather boots, set the cumbrous piece of neck armor onto his chair, and lay back on the small cot. With every sway of the small vessel, the mattress' thin springs screeched and plowed themselves into Corvo's back, making him uncomfortably shift about. He eventually closed his eyes, though it would not be because comfort had finally permitted him rest and as the boat rocked with the rhythm of the waves, so did he, like an infant in its mother's arms.

At first, his dreams were non-existent. Only darkness filled his view and the perpetual motion of the sea kept him from a peaceful slumber. It wouldn't be until later that his subconscious would finally give in to his surroundings and when it did his mind began to wander and dwell on the recent past—on the events of earlier that day.

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_Dunwall Tower was a magnificent structure. It was the shining beacon of a crumbling capital and a ray of hope in a city of despair. The large, three-story castle gave an air of grandeur much lacking in the present time and only reserved for those who had the money to not have to worry about the affairs of lesser men. That alone is what made the tower such a beautiful sight to behold. In all of its glory and opulence, its esteemed resident could not escape the trials of the commoners and was forced to bear witness to the fact that her city, or even further, her empire, needed reformation. _

_Ever since Lord Lucius Banister had left Empress Emily's side, she had been feeling the full weight of the burden of power and dare I say she was not fairing it well. While Banister was her regent, her voice was all but unheard in Parliament and Dunwall was ran by a figure-headed empress. Though this upset her, the capital was showing modest improvement and so she warily went along with the noble's antics, if not solely to protect herself against another assassination plot. However, since Banister's regency ran up, Emily had been trying to force herself into the forefront of Parliament and to take back her rightful power as sovereign. Needless to say, the transition has been rather unsettling. _

_Whenever there wasn't a battle between a nobleman and my Lady about how the city should be kept, Emily would brood in her tower, attending to her studies under Callista's guidance, or trying to ease her troubled mind through the small hobbies that she prided herself in. Her artistic skills had greatly improved with practice to the point in which she can portray a clear likeness of the portrait's recipient. Soon I believe she will even be able to capture their essence. Perhaps if she had grown in better times, Sokolov would have been able to show her the way around a paintbrush as well._

_When she wasn't drawing or reading, swordplay was her next big pastime. I admit that it was I who indirectly turned her on to this dangerous sport, but rather than turn her away from this mainly male activity, I saw it as an opportunity to better prepare her to be able to defend herself. For one day I would no longer be capable of protecting her, a realization I have tried to make her understand for some time now. I know she already is aware of it, but in her female stubbornness she refuses to acknowledge my growing age. _

_Earlier today, Emily had asked me to meet her out in the courtyard gazebo to practice her disarming stroke. Apparently she told Callista she would attend to her lessons after mine; though that wasn't the agreement we had decided upon when I first began to train her. It irked me slightly that she would be so remiss in her studies, but what could I really do? It wasn't exactly my place to reprimand her for being negligent. I wasn't her father, despite what other might believe, and my relationship towards her didn't necessarily allow me to be the one to direct her manner of conduct. So I indulged her. _

_The weather was rather windy, and the cool chill of approaching autumn bit at my nose. The flowers in the Tower's courtyard had begun to slumber under the blanket of cold, effectively making the gardens look especially drab and ill-tended. I could see Emily standing gracefully under the shelter of the gazebo, her body bent over the railing as she gazed aloofly down at the rocky shore line. She was seventeen now, and the older she grew the more her form began to attune to that of her mother's, even going as far as how she dressed. She wore a black blouse with cut-away sleeves and cloaked shoulders, a white, high collared, bishop-sleeved shirt, black riding pants, and black women's boots. Though her chestnut colored hair had lengthened, she still managed to make it mimic her younger, shorter hair style by pining up large, luxurious curls held in place by her signature red headband and white bow. Like a good wine, age matured her body and her beauty had soon earned the jealousy of every noblewoman in the Isles. _

_She must had heard my approach, for as I reached the small rotunda she turned towards me and smiled softly. I don't know what it was about her smile, how her eyes lifted softly and head tilted slightly to the left, but every time I saw one it melted my heart. _

_"Corvo!" she yelled enthusiastically as she rushed to greet me and thrust a wooden waster into my hands. Contentment radiated from her figure as she prepared her own training sword, glaring at mine with fiery passion. Though I felt slightly guilty for espousing her fervor (even going as far as to present her with a custom smallsword for her sixteenth birthday) the way her face always lit up whenever a blade fell into her grip seemed to make these little events worthwhile. "Let's make this interesting, shall we?" her gentle smile quickly turned into a devilish smirk and in that instant I knew I had been set up. Skipping lessons, asking me to the gazebo on such a dreary day, it had all been a part of some scheme to lower my high defenses, a challenge Emily frequently undertook._

_"Just what did you have in mind, my Lady?" I asked, listening to her scoff as I addressed her formally. She hated that. I don't know how many times she had scolded me for calling her "your Highness" or "my Lady" when no one else was around to hear it, but I couldn't help by call her such. Perhaps it was my upbringing, or perhaps I genuinely liked seeing her face scrunch upon hearing my teasing tone, even I didn't know anymore. _

_"A five-point sparing match," Emily proudly suggested as she pointed her wooden waster towards my chest, "If I win, you have to play hide-and-seek with me directly after. You get to choose your reward if you win." _

_A bet? It was rather daring of her, though I wouldn't have expected any less, despite her choice of prize was not being what I was imagining. A simple child's game; she could have blatantly asked me to play with her. But it was her wish, so I played along, "If I win, you have to go do your lessons with Callista."_

_She scoffed at my remark, probably seeing it as reprisal for skipping them in the first place, "Fine, you're no fun. I'm getting too old for Callista's etiquette training though."_

_ "But you're not too old for hide-and-seek?" I laughed softly, which made her purse her lips and furrow her brows in retaliation. _

_"You're never too old for hide-and-seek, Corvo."_

_ Her tone was deadly serious as she spoke those words, and for a second I thought I had truly upset her with my banter. However my mind was soon pulled from its distant thoughts as pain surged through my left arm, causing me to yelp softly to alleviate my ailment. I look down for the cause of my pain, and my eyes settled themselves upon the sheen of lacquered oak in the shape of a blade. Emily's laughter filled the background._

_"That's one for me," Emily mocked, removing her training sword from my surely bruised arm. She was playing dirty, which reluctantly made me laugh alongside her as I saw just how my teaching had rubbed off. Once we had both settled down, I readied my faux blade and the match truly began. _

_ I advanced forward, an attack which she easily countered and I would have accepted nothing less. The echo of wood bouncing off each other reverberated throughout the empty courtyard and our movement warmed the chilly air. What seemed like minutes of us countering one another's moves soon ended though as I feinted an attack to the left and softly tapped her right shoulder with my sword, "You have to keep your eye on my sword, not my feet," I lightly warned, recoiling from my successful attack. Her face scrunched as she acknowledged my suggestion and the battle quickly reconvened. As she lunged at me with her saber, I parried to the side and achieved yet another successful point with a riposte. My continuous victories must have been upsetting her, because I heard her huff loudly as she returned to starting position. I flunged towards her, sweeping my weapon in a horizontal arc, which I was sure would land me the win. However, to my pleasant surprise, Emily dodged with a passata sotto, dropping her body to the ground and jabbing me in the stomach with the tip of her waster. She elegantly pulled off this advanced move, and her aptitude for learning humbled my competitive spirit. As our blades met for the last time, she attempted to disarm me by wrapping her blade under mine, the same move she claimed she was having trouble with. I could see she was struggling, but as she jerked her arm back towards her body, I felt my grip slip and my sword hit the concrete floor with an ear-splitting thud. I'm still not quite sure if I had allowed her that victory, or if she had truly earned it. Either way, she would not soon let me forget that she had won, as she took my hands into hers and forced them over my eyes. _

_"Start counting, Corvo, while I hide." Before I could protest, I heard her feet scramble off into the distance, and I reluctantly began to play a child's game._

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**_Second chapter up, finally, though I doubt the next will be up as fast. Damned term papers. Though I didn't get to explain all the events of that day in one chapter, I'll continue it into the next one. I tend to get carried away in detail, which can unfortunately make my chapters drag on for longer than I was intending them to be. Yay for you, whoops for me. _**

**_REVIEW! As I said in the first chapter, all criticism is treasured. I do respond to questions if you have any, so don't be afraid to ask away. However, if you see a typo and wish to inform me, I rather you send those through pms so when I fix it, the remark will not linger in my reviews…_**


	3. Heresy

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Three — Heresy**

"_58…59…60!" I yelled as I uncovered my eyes. Taking a quick once-over of the area, I saw that Emily had disappeared rather well and I began my rampant search for her. While I was counting out the minute it took for my empress to seemingly vanish, I had promised myself I wouldn't simply use my Dark Vision and see past her concealment. I knew she would find out if I had cheated and my disloyalty to this "sacred" game would surely upset her. However, as I continued to unsuccessfully search corners, silently praying for my charge to reappear, my self-proclaimed promise began to look more bendable._

_ Beneath a tree? No. Crouching behind a planter? Negative. On the other side of this ledge? Uh-uh. Years of playing this hiding game had made Emily a master and as time dragged on I began to panic. I hated not knowing for sure where my Lady was for any extended period of time. It was my duty to protect her, which I couldn't do if there was no "her" to protect. After reaching one end of the courtyard, I opted to double back to the gazebo and hope that I spotted a wisp of her chestnut hair in the strong breeze. _

_ As I began to climb up the courtyard steps back towards the pavilion, a flash of red appeared over my shoulder and I quickly turned to see who it was. At first I thought I might have caught sight of Emily's headband, but I was wrong for before me stood High Overseer Parrish, in all of his piousness. Parrish was not a particularly pleasant sight to behold, with his ever receding hairline that extended to the back of his crown, leaving only sprouts of salt and pepper colored follicles to cover the otherwise large bald spot gleaming in the midday sun. His distinctive crow's feet pulled his black eyes downward and laugh lines delineated his cocky expression. _

"_Lord Protector," his words rolled off his tongue in false praise and I fought not to outwardly show my dislike for the sycophantic parasite. I had had a bad track record with High Overseers in the past and this one would prove to be no different, I was sure of it. He was dressed in his ceremonial Abbey clothing, a crimson velvet coat with thick black buckles and a standard clerical collar constricting tightly around his neck. _

"_High Overseer," I responded formally, nodding my head in a sign of respect, though my lips curled themselves in an unnatural and forced smile, "What brings you so far from Holger Square? Business with my Empress?" I was careful to denote possession over Emily's title, as if to say I belonged to her and display my protectiveness over any threats that came to bode ill will towards my charge. _

_He coughed loudly and adjusted the sword hanging loosely from his thick belt, "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you before I saw her Highness. Do you have a minute?" he said, rhythmically tapping the hilt of his blade. _

"_For you, of course," the back and forth pleasantries had dried my throat, making my next words scratchy as I forced myself to maintain an air of formality, "How can I be of assistance?" _

_We began to walk together up the courtyard steps and while I hadn't forgotten that Emily was still missing from my sight, the importance of genuinely finding her and simply knowing her location had changed, so I quietly activated my Dark Vision and fell back a few steps from Parrish. Black gloves covered my hands to hide my glowing mark and my irises morphed into a golden color, expanding my vision beyond that of any "normal" being. I heard the cryptic words echo in my head as my eyesight filtered everything yellow and I quickly scanned the area. Finally, after endless searching, I found Emily, crouching behind a bush with a royal banner hanging over it to further obscure her view. Satisfied with knowing her position, I returned my eyesight to normal and followed Parrish to the front steps of the palace. _

_He stopped before the door and turned to me, his smug grin slowly fading as silence drew on between us. After his clearing his throat again, he spoke in the most overly polite tone possible for the dreadful words that past his lips, "I was approached with a very disturbing allegation against you, Lord Attano. I'm sure it's all poppy-cock, but the nature of the charge forbids me from simply disregarding it, despite your upstanding reputation and status. I hope you understand my position."_

_Allegation? I felt my heart jump slightly as the adrenaline began to course through my veins. I didn't like being threatened, even if it was inadvertently, but I wasn't about to jump down the High Overseer's throat without first hearing him out, "Of course. May I know what I'm being charged with?"_

"_Well," Parrish droned, "The person who approached me claimed they saw you performing black magic in the name of the Outsider. That would be considered heresy, as you know."_

"_Heresy? That's nonsense," I knew voice had quaked, for his response was not nearly as polite as his previous remarks. _

"_I know, I know. But I could not just ignore their cry. Fear not though, for there's one simple test which will instantly clear your name, and then I can go punish the accuser for their slander. You see, they said they saw a black tattoo on your left hand which would be undeniable proof of your blasphemy. So if you could remove your glove…" _

_I saw Parrish looming over my hand and I could feel my heart pounding through my wrist. From behind my dark leather gloves my mark was burning, begging for me to flee and find the empress, but that would only make things worse I feared, so I persisted, "I'm not going to stand to be disrobed on the word of some degenerate. I demand you bring proof of my crime or tell me who is accusing me before I do anything." I said angrily, hoping my fury would detain the holy man's curiosity. _

_But it did not, "I understand your anger, my Lord, I do. However, you are holding the decisive evidence." There was nothing I could do. I could either show him my mark and seal my fate there or refuse, and let my inaction infer my guilt. Either way, I had been made. And so hesitantly, I removed my gloves and tightened my fists, seeing the Cheshire cat widened his toothy smile._

"_Tsk, tsk. These are very grave charges, Corvo. I could arrest you here and now, drag you away from your Empress, lock you up, and leave you to rot until your execution day. How do you think the public would react to hearing that the demon's spawn had been whispering in their savior's ear?"_

"_Stop it," I whispered sharply. My knuckles were turning white from the tension, and the only thing going through my mind was who could have seen me use my powers. Every since Emily discovered them I always wore gloves, and that had been years ago. However, Parrish did not cease with my warning and continued to gloat over his discovery._

"_Do you think they'd riot, Corvo? Tear down these castle walls and drag out my Lady out of spite? I would hate to see how little Emily would fair without Daddy-dearest to hold her hand. Of course, I have heard one rumor about your love extending beyond just paternal affection. I wonder how incest would sound if I added that to the charge as well…" _

"_Enough!" I couldn't stand his insolent mouth anymore and my rage overtook me. I pinned the High Overseer to the door with my arm, and grasped onto the hilt of his sword just in case he wished to do anything bold. Oh I wished how he would have, "Threaten me all you want, but leave her out of this!"_

_Despite his situation, Parrish continued to smile, adjusting his neck to allow for more air, "Oh you misunderstand me. I'm not threatening my Lady, just merely speculating. I'm only threatening you, Corvo." _

"_What do you want?" I could have, I __should__ have killed him right there. Slicing his throat with his own blade, forcing his body to crumble into ashes, it would have alleviated my fury and instantly solved my problem. But I didn't—an action I still regret._

"_Isn't it obvious? I want justice. I'm a man of code. I would love nothing more than to root out all of the blasphemers from this world and purify them in fire. However, I'm not a cruel man. I understand your position and therefore I offer you a path of discretion. I want you gone, you and your devil god. Leave Dunwall by tonight and never return, or I'll broadcast your crimes tomorrow to the entire empire. So, what will it be, Corvo?"_

* * *

Corvo's eyes snapped open as he awoke from his slumber, sweat rolling down his brow. As he wiped off the perspiration drenching his face, a small squeaking sound turned his attention downward. The little white rat that had hid in the cupboard before now stood atop his chest, squeaking happily and cleaning his face as he stared up at the disorganized man with its large black eyes. In shock, Corvo jerked upright, and the mouse scurried away to hide itself again. He groaned and slouched over the edge of his bed, yawning loudly to try to awake himself further.

As he pushed himself into a standing position, the harsh swaying of the small ship caused a sense of vertigo to overcome his stance, forcing him to grasp onto his desk chair for stability. He looked over at his barely written book and a small sigh past his lips as he pushed his metal neck piece off of the chair and sat into it, opening the crisp parchment. The distant cries of sailors attending to the vessel and the loud churning of the ocean's waves filled Corvo's otherwise silent thoughts as he stared down at his half-written chapter. Carefully, he picked up the fountain pen and pressed it onto the parchment, watching as the ink began to pool and splotch onto the paper. He began to write.

"_Heresy is an interesting word. It originally meant 'choice' and was used to describe how a young man, after examining many different philosophies and cultures, decided how to live their life. However, as language and its speakers grew, the word was warped and twisted, and what was originally meant to promote tolerance and diversity, soon meant illicit beliefs punishable by law. How can a man's thoughts subject to scrutiny under the pretext of order and freedom? Should a man not be able to live as he pleases, so long as he does not disrupt the city's peace? But such is not the way in these times and a man must watch how he conducts himself, or else he too may be subject to the trials of a blasphemer. _

_I am no martyr though. I did not choose to be counted amongst the Outsider's favorite, nor did I wish to be bestowed upon with his gift. But I cannot say things would have turned out the way they did without them. Because of my abilities, I am more of a man than ever before, though many would say I am a monster. Fear and hesitation are erased from my mind. I am the very essence of a protector, safeguarding my empress from foes both seen and not. And yet, with all my power, I cannot combat their words. Send a militia, nay, an army to my Lady's doorstep, and I will discharge them all from her presence, but let them not speak ill towards her, lest their words travel with the wind and smite her from beyond my grasp."_

* * *

_**Huzzah! Another chapter. Honestly, I did not think it would be up so soon, but then again what I can I say, I'm awesome XD. I'm so thrilled so many people are interested in my story; that genuinely makes me happy. I was so very worried it wouldn't get much attention, but as long as people like it, it will continue. Some real Corvo x Emily will probably come into play relatively soon, but I had to establish the reason for Corvo's presence on the ship first.**_

_**Oh, that reminds me. I had a question for my reviewers. I'm thinking of bumping up the rating to M, for the time when I start to describe their relationship. I've only written M stories, and I'm not actually sure what I can get away with under the rating of T. So, my question is: how far can a T rating go? Can I still describe nudity and mild sexual actions, or is that considered M? And if so, would you mind if I bumped up the rating? **_


	4. Red Skies

_**Warning, the very end of this chapter contains sexual content which some readers might find unappealing. **__**If you don't want to read it, skip the last two paragraphs.**_

* * *

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Four — Red Skies**

When Corvo had awoken so rudely from his slumber, the sun had not yet peaked over its vast horizon. Yet as time passed, and he continued to scrawl in his book, its golden rays began to peer through the open port-side window behind him. The warm light radiated off of his back, like a woman's close embrace, and for a moment the stalwart man felt his troubled mind soothe and relax. Hypnotized by the pleasant heat, his fountain pen sluggishly fell from his loose grasp and he turned to look out the window. From what he could see beyond the mostly submerged glass-protected hole, the sun was nearing completion of its rise, casting an array of passionate reds and oranges along the immense horizon.

"I should go get some fresh air," he muttered to himself. The chair's wooden legs screeched at the flooring as Corvo stood from the desk, pushing the chair behind him. He threw on his navy frock coat, adjusted his matching vest underneath, latched on his heavy neck piece, and laced up his thick leather boots. If he was going to meet the public's eye, he was at least going to appear presentable. Sure, he had recused himself from Emily's service, but he still represented her empire, even unofficially. He was the face of a Lord Protector, past or present, and with his title came certain expectations. His manner of speech, his apparel, the way of his stride, they were all intended to symbolize the graceful power of the empress, as one of her chosen few. He walked over to the small sink/mirror combination attached to the far wall and cleaned his face with the hazy, metallic water. Perhaps he should have shaved, a thought that passed his mind as he examined the thickening stubble accumulating along his jaw line, as reflected in the silver glass. However he decided against it for time's sake, and quickly just finger-combed his hair before exiting the small cabin.

From down the long wooden hallway, Corvo could hear the chanting of the sailors from above him on the upper deck. It was far too early for these boisterous shenanigans, and the pounding of their heels stamping onto the flooring hammered in his ears. Dirt and other various specks of grim trickled from between the wooden planks' cracks, obscuring the drowsy man's vision as he tread further down the hall. The closer he warily paced towards the thundering stairway, the louder and clearer the sailor's chants became. The tune seemed familiar to Corvo, and already the sheer intrigue to rediscover their mantra pulled him up from the dank hull.

"What shall we do with a drunken whaler? What shall we do with a drunken whaler? What shall we do with a drunken whaler, early in the morning?" the seamen sang as they attended to the vessel. Their actions accompanied with the beating of the chilly morning waves against the bow caused the ship's metal exterior to echo, which resonated their sound far into the vast and barren sea. When Corvo took his first step on deck, the first thing he saw was nothing. His eyesight blanked out from the intensity of the waking sun, which contrasted so starkly with the dim lighting of the hull that for moments his vision was completely white. Slowly, figures began to force themselves into view, melding with the sheet of light until it became obsolete, and faded into the background. Suddenly, a strong and salty voice beckoned for his response and the nobleman rubbed his eyes to further adjust them to his bright surroundings.

"Mornin', milord! What brings yer' topside?" the voice called in a deep and throaty tone. Its owner was an older man with an olive complexion, whose years at sea had dried out his wrinkled skin. Coils of gray hair stuck unkemptly out from his chin and morphed into his thick sideburns, which made his jaw line seemingly disappear under the web of hair. Corvo could not tell if the man had hair atop his head as well though, for it was covered by a Serkonos-styled fisherman's cap, with its large bill and puffy top hiding the entirety of his crown. For an older man, his posture was rather dignified, though the heavy black coat he wore could have been obscuring some flaw within his stance. From the way he was standing about, inattentive to the ship's maintenance and interested instead in its unusual passenger, Corvo determined that this man, this scruffy, salty, old dog, was probably the captain.

The moments it took to observe the captain's features had caused the Lord Protector to almost completely forget he had been asked a question and he quickly remedied that, clearing his throat and pointing one finger to the sky, "I wished to see the sunrise," he said simply, looking back towards the vibrant horizon.

"Ah, red skies at mornin', sailor's warnin'. Thar be a storm blowin' in from the west. Best take caution, milord."

A storm? That seemed improbable, for there were no clouds in the sky to carry the rain a storm would bring. But Corvo kept this thought to himself as he continued to stare at the shocking hue of red bleeding out onto an endless sky. As he continued to watch in silence, the captain eventually left the nobleman to himself and the sailors sustained their catchy tune.

"…Way, hay and up she rises! Way, hay and up she rises! Way, hay and up she rises, early in the morning…"

After moments of listening to the sailor's endless banter, it suddenly dawned on him just where he had heard that song before. Besides all the guards he had heard whistling the rather catchy tune (a notion that now made him realize how silly he was to have forgotten it in the first place), Corvo had distinctly remembered Emily singing the song's disturbing lyrics on more than one occasion. As he continued to dwell on this note, his mind began to drift into the past and reminisce on those seemingly better times, forcing the lone noble away from the blissful moment of solitude.

* * *

_The time was yesterday evening, before I had set sail away from my charge. After my little talk with Parrish, he had conducted his business with my empress, which I painfully had to endure. For the entirety of their meeting I stood diligently just outside of the room, praying that he would do something so outwardly vile to allow me to cut his throat. Periodically throughout their conference, Parrish would peer through the glass doors that halted my path and cast a cheap smile. That horrid toothy grin—how I wished to knock out all his jagged teeth, so he may never smile again. Out of spite, he stayed for dinner. I could never understand that crazed priest's mind. It didn't make it any better that Emily hadn't talked to me since I failed to discover her early that day when we were playing hide-and-seek. I couldn't tell if she was angry with me, or if she had just been so busy dealing with our rabid guest that I was not at the forefront of her thoughts. _

_ The sun was beginning to set when the High Overseer finally left Dunwall Tower. Emily retired for the evening with the most disturbing look I had seen cross her face in a very long time. It made me wonder just what exactly Parrish had been discussing with her for those many passing hours, for frequently I would see her scrunch up her button of a nose and force herself not to yell at the extremist monk. I was curious, yes, but not enough to allow me to forget the threat I had been given in the courtyard earlier that day. I had opted to leave Dunwall, a decision hastily made as Emily began to approach our company. I wished for her to stay ignorant about my ordeal, for her sake, and Parrish had all too enthusiastically agreed. And yet, the look on her face when they had talked made me think he had intentionally divulged the situation to my Lady, a thought that was prevalent in my mind for the rest of that evening. _

_ Emily went to take a bath, which allowed me enough time to retire to my bedroom for a short while. The washroom was on the second floor and my quarters were on the third, just behind General Tobias' chambers. It was one of those rare moments I was unable to keep track of my empress' movements, but at least I was aware of her location. That would have to suffice. I went to my desk area and pulled out some stationary. My fireplace was crackling softly in the background, warming the area and protecting me from the harsh elements outside. Wind rattled the outside hallway's window panes, and already it felt like the dead of autumn. I began to quickly scrawl a letter onto the parchment, a letter I would leave for Emily before my departure. My thoughts were wild and rampant, my handwriting near illegible. There was so much I wished to say, but the right words to truly express the weight of my emotions eluded my grasp. Once I felt satisfied with the cluster of words I dared to call a letter, I sealed its contents with a drop of wax and imprinted the molten goo with the imperial crest of the Royal Protector. It seemed ironic now, writing a letter of resignation so informally and yet sealing it with my crest._

_ Just as I finished sealing my letter, there was a knock at the door. It was a servant, I could tell from the informal "milord" she sounded as her tiny fist rasped onto the heavy oak, and she popped her head into my chambers when I responded. I didn't bother looking at her, (instead my gaze was fixated on the folded parchment held firmly in my hands) for whatever her purpose was for disturbing my solitary moment would soon roll off her tongue and she'd be off again._

_"Milord, the empress desires your presence within milady's chambers," she informed me—a remark that shouldn't have startled me as much as it did. It was typical for Emily to wish for my company, even this late into the evening. However, she would typically fetch me herself and the thought of Parrish enlightening her on my ordeal reluctantly re-entered my thoughts. How would I explain to her the severity of Parrish's accusation? Could I prevent her from going out on a tirade against the Abbey? The last thing her empire needed was a religious revolution because of me. I would have liked to assure myself that Emily was far more mature than my concerns described, but her stubbornness and temper left me anxious. _

_ I shoved my letter into my inside coat pocket and hastily paced down the hallway. Once I reached Emily's chamber, which was positioned at the far end of the third floor, I hesitantly tapped on the door. Under the weight of my rasp, the heavy wood pushed itself partially open, expecting my arrival no doubt. Still, it bothered me greatly that she would leave her room not only unlocked, but cracked ajar, even if it was for me. It was completely reckless and almost an insult to the labor I had put forth in safeguarding her wellbeing. My nerves were on end, no doubt from the stress bequeathed upon me by Parrish, and my mind was longing for a scapegoat to release the pent up anger. I could not, I would not allow myself to discharge my frustration because of a petty misstep, though. So with a heavy sigh, I calmed myself and advanced into her quarters. _

_ Following Burrow's stay in the Tower, the empress's chambers had gone through some…redecoration. It was no longer such a drab and piercing white, but instead filled with vivid colors and furniture more suitable for a young, female ruler. Everything was themed cerulean blue and gold, the colors of the monarchy, and yet given such a lavish and feminine touch. The furniture was a dark mahogany, contrasting eloquently with the light-heartedness of the blue. In front of her vanity, I could see Emily singing softly to herself as she brushed out her shoulder-length hair, which had been taken down from their curls. Her voice echoed quietly throughout the large space with such graceful blithe for the morbid lyrics she sang, and I could tell she had not yet noticed my presence within the room._

_"Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver. Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver. Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver—Oh, Corvo! I didn't hear you come in," Emily jumped as she spotted me from the reflection of her mirror and instantly whirled around to greet me, brush still in hand. _

_"Your door was open," my voice was dull as I attempted to hide my aggravation. Emily perked her head to the side with curiosity, as if she had no idea what I was talking about. This only disturbed me further. If it hadn't been she who had purposefully left the door open, then that meant the latch was going bad. Normally I would have had this problem fixed the next day, but then again, I wouldn't be there by tomorrow's sunrise. I would have to leave a note with one of the servants before I left, yet another thing pleasantly impeding my departure. She didn't respond to my inquiry, so I changed the subject, "Is there something I can help you with, my Lady?"_

_ Her face instantly scrunched and I mentally kicked myself for my lapse in speech. We were alone, meaning there was no need to address her using formalities. I had derived that all from a simple face scrunch; I was getting far too good at reading her emotions. _

_"I need...advice," she droned, her words dragging as she slowly set her brush back onto the desk. She was wearing what would have been considered to be a nightgown, a cream colored satin slip dress with a high collar and flowing sleeves. She had made it look slightly more decent by draping a delicately knitted shawl over her shoulders, yet I could still feel the heat gathering in my cheeks as I stared at her thin ensemble. _

_Lost in my thoughts, I had nearly forgotten she had spoken to me, and quickly formed a response, "What's troubling you?"_

_For some reason, that made her laugh, though her chuckle was not a pleasant one. She stood and walked in front of her roaring fireplace and I watched as the flames silhouetted her form, "You'll never imagine what Parrish has said now. He's on some sort of "holy" inquisition. He says he's goings to root out all the blasphemous scourge and purify them, whatever that means. I'm worried. I spent all afternoon trying to calm him down. He wants to make the possession of whale bone charms and runes a punishable offense. I mean, they're already considered contraband, but the way he said it makes me think he wants to set up checkpoints or enact random search and seizures against innocent civilians! When conditions are as grim as they are now, people tend to turn towards the unknown to alleviate their troubles, it's just natural. The old aristocracy has already taken their families, homes, possessions…am I suppose to take away their faith as well? And it's not just the commoners Parrish is after. He's even targeting members of the court! And you'll never imagine who he's currently gunning for. Go on, guess!"_

_I felt my heart sink into my stomach, its acids slowly corroding the tender tissue. So the High Overseer had told her, despite his promise not to. What could I really expect though? He was slug, no, worse than that. He was the slime in which the slug excreted, "Me?" I felt my voice shake and my hands trembled as I imagined the sadness that would undoubtedly fill her words. My secret letter had all been for naught, and now I would have to see her tears instead of slink away from them in the cover of the dark. _

_And yet, she never failed to surprise me, "What? No. No, no, no. Parrish is an extremist loon, but he's not stupid. He knows I wouldn't let him lay a hand on you." Shocking, the priest had actually kept his word. This was almost too cruel to bear, but the indigestion swirling my stomach subsided as I reassured myself of her ignorance, "It's Sokolov he's after. He says that the painting he constructed of the Outsider all those years ago is proof of him consorting black magic. Sokolov is eccentric, yes, and he might be trying to contact the Outsider for all I know, but he shouldn't be hanged for it! Don't forget it was he and Piero who cured the Rat Plague!"_

_"It will be alright. I know you'll work something out," my words were only half-hearted. I was concerned for Emily's struggle, but there nothing I could do and my feelings towards the drunken Royal Physician were neutral at best. The Outsider had once told me that he didn't find Anton interesting enough to be worthy of being graced with his presence. Perhaps there was still truth to those words._

_"Thank you, Corvo," she walked up to me and wrapped her delicate arms around my waist in a tight hug. Her stature was fairly short, and the top of her head nestled perfectly under my chin. The warmth of her embrace typically soothed me, but I only felt regret and remorse, for I knew this would be the last hug I received from her for a long time. _

_"Emily, we need to talk about the inevitability of my presence here."_

_I could hear the agitation in her voice as her head lay softly on my chest, listening to my beating heart, "Please, Corvo, not tonight. I've heard this speech a thousand times. You're not dying tomorrow so it can wait, can't it? I've already dealt with so much today; I don't think I can handle anymore of this dreariness."_

_What I had to say was important, however, I had already restated most of it in my letter. I didn't want to upset her, especially not tonight, and so I gave into her demand, wrapping my arms around her tightly, "Alright."_

_She pulled me in closely, and I could feel the warmth of her breath tickling across my ear, "Thank you," she whispered seductively, as her hands slowly slunk up my sides and onto the crevice of my neck, her icy fingers sending sharp shivers down my spine. She pulled me forcefully onto her soft, plump lips, and I could feel the rush of passion course through my veins. Feverishly, I tightened our embrace and began to caress her shoulders, deepening the kiss. It would be the last time I feel her body against my own for a while, and I would make sure to make every second count. Right then, she was no longer Empress Emily Kaldwin I, daughter of the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, my best friend, but just simply Emily, lovely little Emily and all of her sensuality. _

_I hoisted her up onto my hips and tossed her on the bed beside us, watching her delicate body bounce with the waves of the mattress. In a crazed state I leapt on top of her and tore open the front of her gown anxiously groping her luscious breasts as our passion ensued. In that moment, I didn't quite know if the full gravity of my situation had truly sank it, because of all the twisting and turmoil of emotions I should have been feeling, my mind was finally at peace._

* * *

_**Phew, long chapter. Finally we get to see some Corvo x Emily, a little at least. So, I'm guessing this caliber of content requires an M-rating, so I gave it one for safety, and leeway if I decide to go more…explicit. The trip to Serkonos is a full-day journey for all of you who are like, "Is he ever going to get off this ship!?" The answer is yes, I just write really slowly. There's a lot of background information that needs to be built up before the plot can progress (i.e, him getting off the boat). So, REVIEW, as always, or the creepy little kid that sings "The Drunken Whaler" will haunt you in your sleep tonight. Mwhaha…**_


	5. Trouble in the Tower

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Five — Trouble in the Tower**

Of all the current scandalous relationships murmured under the tongues of gossiping prudes, the relationship shared by Empress Emily Kaldwin I and her Royal Protector, Corvo Attano was by far the most complex. Many people assumed that their close bond was the love of a father to his daughter, and that Corvo had been in an intimate affair with the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. For the majority of Dunwall, and even citizens from beyond Gristol's hold, this past romantic connection was undeniable, and Emily's birth was the decisive proof. The general public was largely unaware of anything beyond this seemingly parental love, and yet those who worked within the Tower and select members of the Royal Court may have been heard wagging their tongues towards a different type of connection. However, the small population who gossiped amongst themselves and perceived some sort of intimacy between the Lord Protector and his charge were immediately disgusted. From the outside, it looked like incest, as if Corvo was attempting to purify his bloodline into yet a second generation. Luckily, these rumors only covered a minute fraction of the court, and the majority of people were ignorant of anything beyond this ostensibly father-daughter bond, and that's just the way the surreptitious couple intended it to stay.

Their entire relationship was built on a firm foundation of passion and secrecy. While Emily truly loved Corvo, a feeling she had developed when still a child, the Lord Protector was wary to fully reciprocate this affection for the longest of time. For he had watched her grow in her mother's womb, seen her take her first step, say her first word, and to him, the bond between them was more familial than anything beyond. Yet she had persisted in her pursuit of his ardor, and in her stubbornness, gently prodded him until his high walls came tumbling down. She was sixteen when his willpower had finally cracked, and their relationship was persisting for the better part of a year, with Emily now being seventeen and Corvo thirty-seven. Though it was strange at first, silently courting his deceased friend's daughter, a young woman less than half his age, Emily was more than pleased, and her happiness and the passion that came with it soon soothed Corvo's troubled soul.

In Dunwall Tower, Emily was just awakening from her pleasant night's sleep. She yawned and stretched out of her toes until they just barely touched the footboard, and the chilly wood caused her to reflexively curl up under her heavy comforter. Corvo was absent from the room, no doubt he had left after she had fell asleep, which was normal for him to do after a session of their lovemaking. She rolled over to the empty side of the bed and hugged onto the pillow, burying her face and breathing deeply as if to capture any remainders of her love's essence that dared to linger in her chamber.

Although there were no windows in her quarters to know the time of day, the grandfather clock that stood beside her bed robustly chimed its rich song, signaling the ninth hour. Groggily she forced herself out of the intense warmth of her bed and rubbed the corners of her eyes. Her fireplace smoldered as the dying embers gasped for breath, which had effectively made her room fairly comfortable for the entirety of the night, despite the biting air lurking outside the palace walls. Emily hobbled over to her vanity and sat on the cold chair, and her bottom instantly tensed from the icy wood. As she stared into her mirror, a soft sigh passed her lips at the sight of her unkempt hair. Sections of her chestnut locks stood unruly from her scalp, seemingly defying gravity's will, and effectively making her look like a deranged porcupine.

A hint of blue peered from beneath the collar of her nightgown, and she pulled down the fabric to reveal bruised skin. Soft laughter uplifted the dreary atmosphere as she examined her love bite, trailing its borders down her collarbone with a finger. Corvo had been unusually passionate last night, but she didn't think he'd be so daring as to mark her skin. He was always so hesitant or reserved; it was a nice change, really. As she reached out for her brush to comb the terrifying mess atop her head, her hand touched something soft, yet rough, far from the sleekness of her brush's lacquered handle. It was a letter, Emily discovered as she took it into her grasp, written on heavy parchment. A formal seal enclosed its words, which bore the crest of the Lord Protector. Strange, Corvo wasn't the type of man to write love letters. Of course, she wasn't complaining. Any sentimental act she benefited from was greatly welcomed. Hastily, she tore away the seal and unfolded her letter, her expectations of his affectionate words creating butterflies in her stomach. She began to read:

_"Dearest Emily, _

_As you're reading this, I will be gone. Unfortunate events have transpired, which prevent me from properly maintaining my duties as your Royal Protector, and so I must informally resign myself from my responsibilities. It is cowardly of me to leave you this letter instead of confronting you with the seriousness of the situation, but I could not bear to see your tears. So like a craven cur, I slink off in the dark of night, leaving only these words to ease my wounded heart._

_Ever since I became more than your shield, I have been compromising your safety with my pleasure. Do not blame yourself though, for it was I who gave into the tantalizing allure of lust and foolishly placed it before my duties. However, this is not the reason for my departure. For the cause of my sudden disappearance is not one in which I feel I should divulge upon my Lady's already troubled mind. You have far too many demons to watch out for on your own, and I will not allow mine to nip at your heels as well. _

_I'm confident you can take care of yourself, at least until you appoint a new Lord Protector in my place. I've have shown you enough swordplay to smite a foe if the time calls for it. However, I pray that you never need to tarnish your porcelain hands with the vileness of man. I have always tried to make you consider your course of actions in times such as these, however I have failed in conveying the importance of maintaining a plan, and so I will divulge one here. The first thing you should do is not fret. Do not see my disappearance as indefinite. My troubles must be dealt with away from the constraint of the throne. If you were caught by the hands of the hellion dogging my every step dearest Emily, this heart of mine would surely shatter. _

_You must appoint a new Royal Protector. Do not await my return for I cannot say when this time will be. It could weeks, months, or even years before my enemy mistakes my disappearance as a time to ease his guard and allows my hand to strike from the shadows. I need you to understand that I could not do this with your approval or with my title governing my movements. I could not return to being the assassin I once was and still call myself your shield. There is far too much evil is tied to that past and I will not allow my future dark deeds to tarnish your pristine image. _

_However, I'm not going to be cruel and withhold my intended location. I will return to Serkonos, and reside with one of my family members until I can work out a private living situation. I ask that you not send me money, or try to contact me; for fear that my enemies would use our maintained communication against us. In fact, burn this letter after its completion; its contents are too severe to accidentally wander amongst many hands. _

_Stay strong, Emily. Keep your head up and never back down when victory is nearing your grasp. My heart is restless with the burden of leaving your side and the guilt I feel insurmountable. I would beg your forgiveness, but I feel undeserving of your gentle words._

_Forever in my thoughts,_

_Corvo Attano"_

The parchment floated to the floor as Emily bolted from her room, careening madly for Corvo's quarters. Her bare feet drummed against the floor and her sliding halt wrinkled the carpet which blanketed the chilled wooden planks. Frantically, she jerked open the double doors, eyes darting around the room for any sign of recent activity. Surely, Corvo wouldn't just leave her like this, abandoned in her lonesome keep. He was the last person she truly considered family, and the impossibility of such a sudden disappearance consumed her thoughts. Yet, as she stood quietly in his chambers in her pajamas, feet clinging onto what little warmth the rug had to offer, that impossibility looked more and more probable. No coals glowed in his hearth and his bed was neatly made. Papers and various other office supplies were absent from his desk, with only a golden ring seating squarely in the center to decorate the otherwise cleared tabletop.

Her fingers shakily wrapped themselves around the engraved jewelry and her heart dropped as she noticed its seal. The ring, proof of his title and tool for his decrees, was not something left behind without thought. Along with the letter, this should have been enough to convince the young woman of her lover's absence, and yet she would not accept these clues as fact. Not yet. For all she knew he could have been playing some twisted game with her, forcing her to heed his warnings and listen to his long and tiring speeches. Surely this was punishment for her lapse in judgment when she had silenced his words with complaints about their "dreariness", or skipped Callista's lessons to leisure about. But the Corvo she knew was no cruel prankster, though the meddling god who had gifted him was. He wouldn't be so vile as to bring her to the verge of tears with a lie.

"'Tis a fair morning, your Highness," a deep voice called from behind her, and for a split second Emily begged for it to be Corvo's, despite the obviously unmatching tone.

She turned around. Not surprisingly, it wasn't her protector's voice, well, at least not the one she wished for. For General Tobias, the head of her Royal Guard stood before her, hands wrapped behind his back and chest puffed out in a dignified manner. Tobias had served the monarchy for many years, including her mother's and Burrow's reign. He was well respected within the court, however after the throne was retaken from the Lord Regent, his manner of conduct had grown much more severe than Emily once remembered. He was dressed in his typical watchmen's uniform with a burgundy coat over top to signify his position.

"Have you seen Corvo?" Emily's voice squeaked as she attempted to keep her composure. She could feel the tears beginning to well in her eyes as her grip tightened over the precious metal ring, whitening her knuckles. Her hair was frazzled, her apparel inappropriate for the public's view, and yet none of this seemed to matter in that moment.

Tobias' black widow's peak sharpened as his brows rose in curiosity, "No, I'm sorry to report I haven't seen Lord Attano. Why? Is he missing from my Lady's side?"

Then again, perhaps her appearance should have mattered. It certainly wasn't lady-like to walk around in one's nightwear, and her unkempt appearance should have raised some alarm. Corvo had begged her not to fret, to stay collected in this time of peril. But how could she? The only world she knew was with him at her side, and in the darkness of the night her entire reality had slowly slipped away, "I'm sure he'll return," the words softly poured from her mouth as if to convince herself of his imminent arrival. Slowly she crept back into her quarters, her shoulders trembling and tears running down her puffy cheeks as her composure began to crack.

Nothing made sense. What possible reason could Corvo have to flee so cowardly away from his duties? What "unfortunate circumstances" could have occurred so suddenly to strike such fear into his heart? His feverish passion, his unnatural demeanor, it seemed so clear now that something had been gravely wrong. But what could it have been? The only person who had visited them the day before was the High Overseer, and the two hadn't even conversed. Or had they? Corvo's voice had trembled when Emily had raved about Parrish's inquisition towards Sokolov, and he had been so confident that it was he who had been targeted by the rabid monk. Had Parrish discovered her love's…abilities? Emily had known about them for years now, but she hadn't told anyone! It seemed like a long shot, but what else could be the reason for his flight?

Emily tossed her letter onto the smoldering embers of her fireplace, hot tears staining her glowing cheeks. A eerily maddening laughter softly echoed from her throat as she watched the parchment slowly catch aflame and the ink melt away under the fire's embrace. If Parrish thought he could take away the only person that truly cared about her, he was sorely mistaken. It was only a matter of time before the Masked Felon awoke from his prolonged slumber; everything until then was just a waiting game.

* * *

_**Some small insight to the events occurring within the Tower and Emily's emotions as Corvo slowly sails away from her. So sad, Emily sanity momentarily slipping with the realization of her love's disappearance. T_T I'm not going to threaten you this time but…review? **_


	6. Rumors

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Six – Rumors**

"_Chapter 3, page 27:_

_The tools of the rich are oiled with the blood of the poor._

_The truth is, with money and power comes the ability to avoid outward scrutiny. However, the gossiping hens will always find some way to further puff their feathers by clucking behind your back, where you cannot defend yourself against their sharp beaks. I had always believed that rumors were lies started by men who had nothing better to do than to marginalize the reputation of better men. However, it took me creating one to realize how autonomous they really were. _

_The rumor itself is independent from status and wealth. It transcends beyond national borders and unites people from all classes of life. It is a living entity. Simply breathe life into it with some menial falsehood and watch it take form. Nurture it as you would a child though, with tenderness and care, and always make sure to know just whom your rumor has been conversing with. Safeguard them against the unwanted, lest they grow into deviants and squirm out from your control. _

_The rumor I started dates back approximately seventeen years, when Empress Jessamine Kaldwin was still amongst the living. She was a beautiful young woman in her mid adolescence, with long raven-black hair and porcelain skin. While I was not much older than her at the time (she was sixteen and I had just turned twenty), I always perceived her to be a very lively and exciteful woman. She loved to dance and draw, a quality much reflected in her daughter even now. Much of her time would be spent out in the Tower gardens, drawing the many flowers or simply enjoying the springtime breezes. I distinctly remember that whenever she thought I wasn't looking, she would sneak pear blossoms into my coat pockets and then blame it on the servants when I pretended to find them later that day._

_The summer of that same year, the Kaldwin family took their annual trip to their estate in Karnaca. Of course, the "Kaldwin family" of that year merely meant the Lady Jessamine, for the emperor's health had begun its silent decline, and as every citizen of the Isles know, the empress regretfully died in labor after delivering her only child. The royalty of Serkonos, who resided in the elite city of Karnaca are all sniveling swine, with nothing better to do than talk ill of people of the nobility and spit upon the less fortunate. Even today I cannot fathom what qualities the princess saw in Prince Aeton Trinci, nor will I ever know, as both of them have departed from this plane. My best assumption would have been the fact that her father always hated the Serkonan monarchy, the Trinci's, and Jessamine had a nag for being overtly rebellious. Nevertheless, she became romantically interested in the young prince, and he her. Despite all my forewarnings, I could not stop the inevitable, as nothing in this realm can cease the stubbornness of a teenage girl. _

_At the end of the summer, all my concerns had taken shape. The young princess had learned the hard way just how slimy the Trinci's were, and how she had been naïve to ever think that they could care for someone other than themselves. Prince Aeton had used her to attempt to further his family's power, and unbeknown to him it had worked. Before I continue, I want to make one point very clear. Though I swore to Jessamine I would take this secret to my grave, the conditions surrounding this rumor have since become muddled, and against my will, the truth has begun to peer from the shadows. As I do not intend to publish this work until the day of my death (and surely the truth will have ousted itself before then), I do not see a problem with writing it here. _

_Upon returning to the capital a few months later, Jessamine was antsy with the reaction she would get from her father upon learning the news of her unexpected pregnancy. Back in Karnaca, I had brought up the possibility of a quiet abortion, but her gentle heart forbade the notion. She actually wanted to keep the child, saying how she had always wanted to be a mother, despite the somewhat discomforting identity of the father. Thankfully she had broken off her relationship with the little prince before returning to Dunwall, thus concealing the fact he had impregnated her. Jessamine's greatest fear was the possibility Aeton would attempt to claim rights to the emperor's title, effectively removing the Kaldwin family name in future generations. The idea haunted her for months, causing her sleepless nights and poor health. The emperor died the following winter, and Jessamine took the throne, belly half stretched with child. The Isles had seen a long line of male monarchs before Jessamine's coronation, and so the nobles began to chat amongst themselves about the identity of the child's father, in hopes to see a male ruler again. _

_Empress Jessamine came to me with her concerns, begging for me to advise her on the situation. A solution had been brewing in my mind ever since we left Serkonos, and then was the time to lay out my carefully conceived plan. I told her to start a rumor. A simple white lie in which should could discreetly impart upon one of her ladies-in-waiting, perhaps by "accidently" leaving upon a journal entry for them to happen upon, or causing them to overhear and "unfortunate" piece of information. The rumor was small and simple, and it would fix all of her worries without causing too much of a scandal. The rumor I told her to spread was that I, Corvo Attano, was the child's father."_

Corvo sighed deeply as he laid down his fountain pen on the small galley bar, stretching his arms out and cracking his cramped fingers. Nearly thirty pages of writing in the span of…6 hours? Then again, the pages were hardly full-sized. More like note pages, about the size one would find in a relatively small diary. On top of that, he had written sections of the book in prior weeks, when he was first contemplating even starting an autobiography. All and all, it was still fairly impressive. He was beginning to run out of ink cartridges though, a frightening discovery; however they would surely last him until he reached Serkonos. If all went well, they would land in the port of Cullero, by the end of midday. Cullero was a popular travel destination that saw its fair influx of fishermen, whalers, and other seaworthy merchants, which unfortunately included pirates. Thankfully, this ship had nothing to worry about from piracy. It was far too small to be considered a target, and carried nothing of immense value, besides a bunch of delicious, slimy hagfish and the ex-Royal Protector.

After watching the sun beautifully rise, Corvo had taken himself down to the galley, hoping to fill his growling stomach. The cook had been all but helpful, and asked more questions than the nobleman wished to answer. Among them was the infamous rumor he had just written about, which had spurred the idea for his current chapter. It was amazing how even on the open seas people would still hassle him about his "undeniable" relationship with the late Empress Jessamine, to which Corvo would simply give a small smile and continue with his business. He would not confirm nor deny the rumor, despite its complete falseness. Its importance of its integrity had greatly faded since Emily turned of age to rule her empire, and yet the lie was so engraved into his past it was almost a part of his identity.

However, this identity was slowly becoming compromised with every passing day that his relationship with the current empress continued to grow. How would Jessamine have reacted if she'd had been aware of their intimacy? Could she have predicted her daughter's ever-increasing affection? Emily reflected so much of her mother that it was as if she was a living reincarnation of Jessamine's younger self. Her rebelliousness, her fiery temper, her relentless stride—the only quality Emily had that was truly her own was her looks, though she did get her beauty from her mother as well. In truth, Emily shared more features with Aeton than her mother, with her rich chestnut colored hair and moderately tanned skin, like the warm sands of the Serkonan coastline. How that skin would pale and stain with salty tears as she spent the next few weeks mourning for her missing love, a mental image that caused Corvo's stomach to tense and his strict composure to waver ever so slightly at the inevitable sorrow strung across such an innocent façade.

Perhaps his departure would ultimately be for the best, though. Half the city still believed that he was a murderous traitor anyway, despite being publically cleared of Jessamine's assassination. Of course, no one knew of the other dark deeds he had committed under the guise of the Masked Felon, a persona that now lay dormant within the recesses of Piero's workshop—but their ignorance never ceased the unwelcomed speculation. It was amazing how the entirety of Dunwall wasn't sanctioned for their Lying Tongues, the second of the Seven Strictures declared by the Abbey of the Everyman, the bearers of the religious doctrine and law of the land.

It didn't matter if the gossiper's words had an underlying truth, for their actions promoted the continued slander. Corvo was no better, though. He had perpetuated one of the more favorite of lies murmured amongst the majority of the empire. If the truth ever did manage to break through the tempest of whispers rolling off of the perpetuators tongues, and if somehow it was traced back to him, the punishment the former Lord Protector could be held accountable for was unfathomable. Such was the way of this crackpot religious order, with their inflexible statures and superior mindset which would no doubt eventually burn through the Isles with their purifying fire. But actions like these were reserved for a more desperate time, worse than the slow recovery Dunwall was currently facing.

Yes, perhaps his early retirement would, in the end, prove to be a necessary evil. By removing himself from the court, the blather about Corvo and Jessamine would eventually become passé, and fade into the Void. He could prevent the truth about Emily's father from flickering into the light, and cease the whispers of electral love plaguing the Tower's hands. Certainly that would be better than letting the slander spread under the breaths of drunkards and smite its subjects whilst they slumber, right?

After Corvo had taken a short break from his writing to relaxed his cramped muscles and scarf down the fried hagfish and ale the galley's cook had served to him (which had seemed to be the only food available on the vessel), he picked back up his fountain pen and finished the remainder of his chapter.

"_After the rumor first spread, Jessamine's demeanor towards me began to change. She acted less formal while I was near and was far more affectionate and physical. She would grasp my hands, or whisper softly into my ear, and for a while even I believed that she was beginning to develop feelings towards me, though they turned out to be of a different sort than what others believed. As are the nature of rumors, they spread and spread until they drown themselves under a wave of infinite whispers. What made this particular rumor so volatile though, was that it fit so perfectly. The beautiful young empress and her loyal bodyguard—yes, the stereotype was almost too perfect. The gossip of our "relationship" soon stretched even past the Royal Court and into the common people's hands. Everyone knew (or thought they knew) I was "screwing" the empress, and Jessamine never minded overdoing her part. She even asked me to marry her once for image's sake, but I declined. I had no ambition for power, and was content in my role as a protector. _

_I would be lying if I said I never had intimate thoughts towards her, as did all the men in the Royal Court at that time. However, she thought of me as an older sibling—an only brother—and I was glad to be considered it. Brothers defend their siblings, as was my duty. Even today people still believe this seventeen-year-old rumor as if it were fact, and some are even brash enough to spit it back in my face. By the time she had passed, the empress and I had a connection that surpassed any intimate relationship. Our bond was pure, unadulterated friendship, as true as if blood-bound. We trusted each other with our lives; secrets had no bearing. Even little Emily saw me as a father-figure, or a close uncle and I loved her just the same. I have never met another person in this world like Jessamine, one with whom I feel so freely around, nor do I believe I will ever meet one again."_

* * *

_**Finally, I get this chapter put up! I actually started this fic by writing this chapter first, and I definitely didn't expect it to wind up being presented this far into the story. But anyways, THIS is my personal interpretation of Emily's origins. Take it however you wish, hopefully optimistically and with an open mind. Corvo should be getting off of this damned boat soon enough. I'd estimate…two more chapters? That sounds about right. **_


	7. The Storm

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Seven – The Storm (More than a Man)**

"_Chapter 4, page 31:_

_The Abbey of the Everyman lives for the sole purpose of annihilating the Outsider, the source of all magic present within our world. But just who, or what, is this obscure supernatural being, and what does he want with us? If one listens to the Abbey for this question, their words will be riddled with speculation of demonic contracts amongst a mindless cult-like following heeding his every word. They will tell of a snake-like being with wings that strangles idol men who stray too far from the path of righteousness, or a leviathan that haunts children who don't abide the Seven Strictures and drowns them in the Void. However, those actually lucky enough to have seen this mysterious figure will soon learn that all of the Abbey's teachings are much more severe than is his true nature. _

_ He appears to us in multiple forms, man, beast, shadow. For me he has always came as a man, with sickly sunken features, empty black eyes, and a smirk that would make even the High Overseer cringe. His purpose is always cryptic and whimsical, as if he preys off of our suffering, our success, and especially our choices. He does not lead us to do anything in his name, nor does he desire the erection of the many shrines present throughout the Isles, although this does not anger him. He is seemingly incapable of anger or happiness, and perhaps that very fact is what makes us mortals interesting to observe and interact amongst, as if we were ants building our colony under the shadow of his thumb. This is not to say he's malicious though, only gifted with a powerful curiosity, for he sees through the folds of time and ponders on how our actions will affect his wavering predictions. _

_ The reason for the Abbey's inquisition against this fairly ambiguous deity is his unbiased nature towards the people upon whom he chooses to impart his gift. Simply stated, they are jealous. For the Outsider does not base his decisions on status nor effort put forth by his gift's recipient. This seemingly random nature and is what infuriates the Abbey, for they wish to harness his power for their own devices and believe their position more than qualifies them to be counted among his chosen beneficiaries, rather than the murderers and ruffians that generally fit in the trickster god's scope of interes—"_

"Shit!" Corvo yelled as the ship jerked forward, causing his pen to splotch ink over two hours of work. The wind had greatly picked up since his breakfast in the galley, and black clouds spanned over the horizon. Rain pelted the upper deck as waves crashed against the exterior metal hull, and their thunderous sound echoed throughout his small cabin. It looked as if the captain had been right about a storm, despite the Lord Protector's initial doubts. At this rate they wouldn't reach the port of Cullero until at least sundown, which only further annoyed the already agitated man. He could hear the wind as it howled and whistled, like a siren's moan, and the glass in his port-side window unnervingly rattled under the pressure of the irate waves. The intense motion of the ship caused his stomach to turn and twist, and he could taste fried hagfish and ale sticking sickly in his throat.

The ship careened sharply to the right, sending Corvo (and almost his breakfast) with it as he crashed into his metal bedpost. The sudden jerk had also caused his whale-oil lamp to fall off the nightstand and shatter across his wooden flooring, and the volatile liquid caught aflame as it burned off its pungent fumes. Hastily, he stamped out the small fire, grinding the heel of his boot into the smoldering blubber. This storm was growing violent fast and the abrupt rocking motions was giving him vertigo, much unlike the gentle, nurturing swaying a calm sea bestowed. Without the trans-powered lantern to illuminate the small area, his cabin was pitch-black, and only the cracking of lightning just outside his window guided his path. He needed air. The stress of the current situation accompanied with his unfamiliarity of any boat larger than Samuel's dingy was beginning to eat at his mind. He had always been on a much larger and sturdier vessels when traveling on open waters, and that was over seven years ago.

Corvo quickly activated his Dark Vision to ease his movement throughout the blackened hold, though this perspective did throw off his depth perception rather crudely and he winded up bumping his head onto the doorway on the way out. The hallway was spinning. Cargo was pressed precariously against their security nets and barrels slid unchecked across the flooring, creating a labyrinth of obstacles in which to hurtle over before he could even reach the main deck's stairwell. A simple Blink quickly remedied this though. As he clenched his fist his mark glowed white hot, and he traversed the wreckage in an instant, appearing on the other end of the hall. Blink was his favorite ability bestowed upon him by the Outsider, and second most often used. He regularly used it to discreetly circumvent noisy servants who tried to invade Corvo and Emily's privacy after spotting them with his enhanced eyes. And now it had helped him again by avoiding yet another potentially hazardous situation.

The moment he took a step onto the upper deck, he instantly wished he hadn't. Black clouds blocked out the midday sun, seemingly isolating them from the outside world. Enormous waves pulled the ship into the depths of its trough, cresting over the entirely of the bow and crashing into the deck with a woman's fury, sweeping away sailors under her grasp. Thankfully, they were physically tied to the ship, so no one went completely overboard, though the ocean would have been more than pleased to have swallowed any of these brave men. The storm was much worse than Corvo had initially thought and as he stood, body halfway between the hull and the deck, he thought about retreating back to his cabin. He didn't know anything about ships, and would only be a hindrance to the men diligently working to keep themselves (and him) alive. That was, until something inconceivable happened.

A blue streak of lightning split the sinister clouds as it hurtled towards the small fishing boat, blinding all who dared to glimpse upon its sublime terror. With a sickening flash it collided with the main-mast's yard, ripping through its center with untamed electrical power. The spar plummeted into the sea, its splash muted by the roar of the tempest. Shards of the shredded wood penetrated into the deck's flooring and the sail flapped violently as its support sank into the watery depths. The blood drained from Corvo's face in horror as he was confronted with the familiar possibility of death. He didn't want to die like this, not on a ship out of his control, before even reaching Serkonos and seeing his family, or feeling the warmth of Emily's sweet embrace on his bare skin again. But what could he do? Grab one of the hagfish swimming agitatedly in their tanks, toss it into the sea, possess it, and pray to swim far enough away from the storm before his dominion over the creature exhausted? As plausible as that sounded, they were still hours from the shoreline. Surely, he would drown from fatigue before reaching the southern Isle.

"Frap the outhaul! Secure that stay!" the captain bellowed to his crew from the bridge, attempting to steer his ship into the calm eye of the storm, "Milord! Go back below deck. Up here's no place fer someone without thar sea legs." Yet the old skipper's words fell deaf upon Corvo's ears as he continued to stand motionless in the stairwell, with only the salty water stinging his face as evidence he was still alive. It was a man's scream that finally woke the nobleman from his petrified state, for a sailor helplessly dangled from the remnants of the broken spar, begging for his crewmates to save him before he plummeted to his death. However, the ship was swaying too fiercely to allow anyone to climb to the seaman's rescue, and his weakening grip would not last much longer. "Simons! Hold on, matey!" the captain called, hands clenching tightly to the helm.

Of course, Corvo could reach him, given that he climbed to the bridge deck and Blinked up the busted mast. But should he so openly use his abilities to save a stranger? He had done it before, but at least then his identity was concealed. What did it matter now though? He was already framed a heretic, with no empress to govern his actions. However, if this was what he truly felt than why did he continue to stay his hand? As the man precariously dangled over the edge, Corvo's thoughts began to reluctantly reminisce back to events surrounding a similar time, when Emily had first learned about his abilities, in hopes his subconscious would decide on a course of action.

* * *

_It was a warm and sunny summer day at Dunwall Tower. The sky was cloudless; seagulls were squawking merrily, and it seemed like all the troubles of the world—the rat plague and its increasing death toll—were far away. Empress Emily had recently turned thirteen, and as such her rebellious streak had kicked in. The frustration being considered too young to run her empire—an empire so scarred from the claws of that tyrant—showed in her everyday tirades against her caretakers. It was little annoyingly defiant acts at first, like hiding from her tutors, or refusing to accept the assistance of her handmaids, any tiny action that would inevitably frustrate her subjects, causing them to suffer alongside their empress. But as time dragged on, her temper only worsened and she grew more bitter as she watched her capital slowly wither and die from within. It seemed like only I could alleviate her suffering, a role I gladly accepted, for it was I who took back her throne, protected her from would-be assailants, and guarded her keep on restless nights. Today, however, was one of those unfortunate days. _

_I was atop the Tower roof with General Tobias, discussing what improvements needed to be made to the empress' safe room. It had far too many exploitable points that had to be sealed if I was to sign off on its security. My line of thinking was rather simple—if I could break into it, than others could, such as one of Daud's assassins or anyone else with abilities similar to my own. True, there weren't many others like this, especially since Daud had retired from his dark business, but they existed and so the threat continued on. The walls were made complete, without any windows holes I could Blink up to. The ventilation shafts had metal mesh woven into them to prevent possessed rats from crawling through. The door was impervious to my Wind Blast, and could only be opened from the inside. The last part was the most important, in my opinion. There were no key holes or any locking mechanism to be able to break through. Because of that, it was always unlocked when not in use, and always readily accessible in times of crisis._

_Tobias thought me insane to order all these renovations, then again he never saw how easily I penetrated the Tower's walls and slipped past his "well trained" guards, or how I eluded all of Sokolov's fancy technology which the general constantly assured would be enough to protect my empress. He knew nothing of the willpower and cunning of an assassin that an Arc Pylon or Wall of Light was incapable of subjugating. So as he belittled my reformations as waste of the capital's finances, I saw them as an investment towards Emily's safety, so that no one could ever harm her the way Daud and his Whalers brutally slew her mother, or my covert takedown of the Lord Regent, when I played his crimes to the world. _

_Though I wouldn't have called it arguing, we bickered back and forth like an elderly married couple until Callista came hurtling through the rooftop access. I could tell she had ran, for her breath was heavy and strands of hair defiantly strayed from her auburn bun. Her hazel-green eyes searched rampantly across the area until they set themselves on my person and like a crazed beast she rushed forward. Honestly, for a moment I had thought the woman had lost her mind, for the way she madly dashed across the way and forcefully grasped onto my hands surely deserved some sort of psychiatric attention. _

"_Corvo!" she gasped, choking on air as it hastily refilled her tired lungs, "Have you seen Emily?" My chest clenched at her words and I felt my skin begin to pale. Today was the day Callista always came over to tutor Emily in her studies. She was supposed to be with her at all times, so why was she asking me for my Lady's location? She must have noticed the slightly deranged, confused look scowling my face, for her anxiety only increased with my silence, "She excused herself to the lavatory; I thought she'd only be gone for a minute, but she never came back! I've searched everywhere in the Tower. She's hiding from me again."_

_I probably should have been more upset with Callista for failing to do her only job, but panic muddled my thoughts as I pushed the woman aside and rushed down the stairwell, "I'll find her," I called before disappearing back into the Tower, a sense of urgency following my hasty steps. _

_ I had a good idea of where Emily was hiding already, and exited out into the main courtyard. She tended to bully and pick on Callista fairly regularly, but I was typically nearby to redirect the young monarch's hostility. However, today I had to abandon her to meet with Tobias, to secure her future endeavors, but by leaving her to her own devices, I had inevitably only placed her closer to the fire. Emily wasn't irrational though, just rebellious. She wouldn't do anything so overtly outlandish as to worry me for too long, and that thought alone eased my anxious heart. _

_ I descended down the steps past the gazebo, giving a small sigh as I caught glimpse of Jessamine's tomb. Besides having barely any voice in Parliament, part of the reason for Emily's bratty behavior was definitely attributed to her mother's death. It had only been a little over a year since her demise, and Emily had just recently learned about her father's true identity from me. It was astonishing how the late empress was able to fend off the unrelenting questions asked by her daughter's curious self. Like a ravenous dog, Emily hungered for knowledge, and with her mother now passed from this world, her appetite had only increased. I tried to steer her away from the truth as Jessamine always had, but I was not as strong willed. When Emily directly asked me if I was her father, my resolve finally crumbled, and I told her everything she needed to know about Prince Aeton Trinci and why it was so secretive. I still don't know how Jessamine prevented her daughter from knowing anything beyond her father being a "man of high class", and how it got to the point that even Emily believed she was truly my seed. Perhaps the realization that she was without parents is what soured her attitude further, and the thought that her citizens pitying their orphaned empress drove her to hide away from society's false sympathy. _

_ As I reached the small stone bridge that connected the palace courtyard to the building that housed the hydraulic water-lock, I peered over the edge and scoured the area below. Just as I thought, Emily was there, though I didn't imagine she'd be precisely where she was. She sat on a lower edge of the castle wall, overlooking the steep cliff side down to the rocky shoreline. Her back was pressed against the barely blossoming rowan tree and her feet dangled hazardously over the edge. An agitated scowl ruined the aloof appearance she attempted to emulate. I didn't exactly know how she managed to climb the partition, as that particular section rose roughly five feet above the ground and she had only recently broken that height. It worried me that she'd be adventurous enough to scale the wall without supervision, but it certainly didn't surprise me that she'd be so daring._

"_Empress!" I called from my position on the bridge, hoping to catch her attention. I must have been about twenty feet away, for she didn't hear me the first time and I had to shout again, slightly louder, "Empress!"_

_Upon my second exclamation, Emily tilted her head up towards my direction, and her sour scowl instantly softened, "Corvo!" she yelled back, a large smile coating over her obvious agitated façade, "You're getting much better at this game." Was that this was to her—a game? All my anxiety and exasperation was for her inevitable enjoyment? I felt my eye twitch at her words as I withheld my frustration for fear of seeming uncouth and further upsetting the youth monarch. _

"_You scared Callista," I carefully responded, watching her smile begin to fade as she realized the severity in my tone. Truthfully, I should have been far angrier with her than I was. Running off and hiding from her tutors, causing me to search rampantly to alleviate my anxiety, it was reckless and unmannerly, and yet I wasn't as upset as I should have been. Perhaps it was because I too pitied her, though my feelings were sincere. I understood the reasons for her temper, and I indulged her periodic tantrums so that these emotions wouldn't go unchecked until they boiled over in a furious tirade against the aristocracy that took her only family. No, I wasn't as upset as I was disappointed._

_Still, Emily continued to act defiantly, and scoffed at my words, "She's so boring, she never lets me do anything fun," she complained, crossing her arms over her chest._

"_You worried me as well." _

_My response seemed to quell her aggravation, as she slowly uncrossed her arms and wearily sighed. "I'm sorry Corvo. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to have some fun. I'll go back inside now," she solemnly groaned, and stood atop the wall._

_ Even now I'm not exactly sure what happened, but as Emily prepared to hop off the low partition, she somehow lost her footing and began to topple backwards. Her ear-piercing shriek surged through the air as her body lurched over the cliff side, and the fear in her tone as she screamed for me stopped my heart. My reactions from then on were pure instinct, and before Emily could disappear completely over the edge her body froze, like a statue still in time. Terror warped her petrified face as I bent the fabric of time, and fear-induced tears floated above her in a suspended animation. My mark burned brightly as I clenched my fist and peddled backwards, preparing to rescue my empress. With all my might I ran across the small bridge and leapt into the air. As I reached the apex of my jump, I relaxed my knuckles and flashed onto the wall. I could feel time ceasing its halt, and hastily grabbed onto Emily's outstretched arm, pulling her up to safety. When reality resumed after a mere eight seconds, I was left standing atop the stone fixture, holding the frazzled girl securely in my arms. The horror of nearly falling to her death had sent her into panic-induced convulsions, and as she gently shook, tears staining my satin vest, I nestled my nose into her soft hair and assured her that everything would be okay. _

"_How d-did you d-do that?" she choked, tears breaking her words, "Y-you were on the bridge. You c-couldn't have reached me."_

_I gently cupped her cheeks within my hands and dried away her tears with my thumbs, smiling softly down upon her, "I jumped," I lied, though it wasn't a very good one. I wasn't exactly well versed in lying to someone's face. Even when faced with a person exclaiming the rumor I had started about Jessamine and myself, I wouldn't outwardly promote or deny it, but just give a small smile in recognition to the comment._

_Because of this weakness, Emily was easily able to pick apart my mediocre falsehood, and immediately threw it back into my face, "You would have broken your neck."_

_Yet that didn't keep me from being persistent, "I guess I was lucky." Persistence is key when constructing a fictional statement. Always stick to your lie, even if it's completely bogus and you're sure to prolong the inevitable trouble. That is, unless you have a large glowing mark clearly imprinted into your skin. Visible, concrete evidence always complicates things. _

_These were the days before I wore gloves, which was Emily's suggestion after she discovered my abilities. For in that moment she grasped onto my left hand in shock, fascination prolonging her gaze as she watched the skin fade from an eerily luminous greenish-white back to its blackened brand. To attempt to explain away the bizarre phenomena she had just witnessed would have been a foolhardy endeavor, and so I reluctantly told Emily about my gift, and all its implications. I told her the truth about the Outsider, whom she claimed to have seen once in her dreams as a "scary ghost with black eyes". I explained how he had bestowed these mystical powers upon me to aid my vengeance of her mother's death and secure her ascension to the throne. Shockingly enough, none of my tales seemed to startle her, and even stranger, they actually seemed to keep her quite entertained. She demanded a demonstration of all the abilities I claimed to possess, and I loyally obliged her request. _

_The Outsider gave me seven powers which I've since utilized to my benefit. They are: Blink, Dark Vision, Devouring Swarm, Possession, Wind Blast, Bend Time, and Shadow Kill, which I can control to varying extents. As I demonstrated each of these (except for Devouring Swarm and Shadow Kill, for fear that the rats would accidentally bite her and I had no one to demonstrate the latter upon), Emily watched with much enthusiasm and mystified disbelief. Even when I explained to her the need for secrecy, especially around members of the Abbey, her enthusiasm did not waver. She understood how discovery of this seemingly black magic could put me in harm's way, and she diligently undertook it upon herself to safeguard my secret. Her hero now transcended beyond the boundaries of man, became larger than life, and near god-like in her youthful gaze. Perhaps it was in that moment that I transcended the role of a parental figure in her mind. In any case, I was now more than a man to little Emily. I was the very essence of a protector, and I would do my damnedest to uphold this responsibility._

* * *

That solved it. He couldn't just allow the man to fall into the sea when he could do something to stop it. It was his duty, nay, his responsibility to protect, even if recipient was not his clumsy little empress. With much determination uplifting his step, Corvo ran to the bridge deck and bolted up the stairs. It was just high enough to Blink to the mast with if he gained a running start. The harsh waves caused him to briefly stumble, but he quickly regained his composure and dashed across the small way, pushing off the metal railing with his heavy leather boot. Archaic words whispered in his head as he was pulled through space and time in an instance, traversing the large gap and landing firmly on the broken mast yard. Just before the sailor could plummet to his death, Corvo madly latched onto the seaman's arm, and hoisted him atop the pole. Relief brimmed off of both men's faces as they sighed heavily and warily chuckled, each knowing the proximity the other was to meeting death.

As they perched above the deck, the dark clouds began to part and the rain ceased its assault upon the small vessel. They had reached the eye of the storm, and its calm waves were a blessing to the crew below. The sun shined brightly through the breaking of clouds, and Corvo could see the very edges of Serkonos far off on the horizon. They had made it, despite all the trials and turmoil their ship had endured. They had reached their destination, and as the Lord Protector gazed upon his homeland all the fear that once clouded his mind instantly disappeared, and a wave of serenity washed away his troubled façade.

* * *

_**EH MEH GAWD! This is the longest chapter I've EVER written. T_T My fingers hurt. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it, but it certainly was exciting to construct. The Corvo I built in this story will have 7/10 powers, each mastered to various extents. His Blink is Level II, Dark Vision Level II, Possession Level II, Shadow Kill Level II, and Bend Time Level II. Wind Blast and Devouring Swarm are at Level I. This is actually possible to do in game because there are 39 available runes (granted you go stealthy), and all this takes 36. Screw passives (except Shadow Kill), who needs 'em? REVIEW!**_


	8. Smoke and Long Shadows

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Eight – Smoke and Long Shadows**

The remainder of Corvo's voyage was enjoyable and rather mellow. Most of the crew was busy cleaning up the remnants of wooden shards and pieces of tattered sail the wind had littered over the upper deck, or making repairs to the broken spar that had been ripped apart by lightning. The lack of a main sail greatly decreased the ship's overall speed, but the trans-powered engine had kicked in to give the vessel a much needed boost, and the pungent aroma of whale-oil hovered in the air. Corvo had receded back into the dank hold and, under the request of the sailor whom he had saved, enjoyed a drink in the galley. The seaman's name was Simons, though most of the crew now referred to him as "Sparky" for apparently conducting the lightning during the storm. He had been so enthusiastic about his rescue and the fact that he was still alive that he had told the nobleman all about his life, from early childhood all the way to that very day. It seemed like Sparky never knew when to settle down, and it became obvious his newfound nickname was also attributed to the sheer amount of energy this man possessed. Corvo was forced to endure the entirety of the sailor's long-winded monologue for fear of seeming rude, and though he didn't actually pay attention to most of the man's words, every time Simons would stop to catch his breath or take another swig of ale, the ex-Lord Protector would give a small nod in belated acknowledgement to whatever had been spoken.

Shockingly enough, not once did Simons ask Corvo about how he had managed to save him from certain death by appearing out of thin air. Perhaps he didn't want to know, or didn't care to. It could have also been possible that he figured it out on his own, and didn't feel like ruining his luck of having one of the Outsider's chosen gracing their ship. Sailors are superstitious men, and many believed heavily in the Outsider and respected the god's capricious nature. They carried bone charms in their pockets or carved runes and wore them around their necks to beg the deity for calm winds, or as trinkets to ward off the evil creatures of the watery depths. Even their ship was named the _Albatross _as an omen of good luck, further exemplifying the irrationalities these men harbored as an aspect of their culture. Corvo wasn't one to judge though, he had lugged around a human heart under advisement from the trickster god in an effort to expand upon his powers. It wasn't until half way through his masked expedition that he realized it was Jessamine's heart, which had caused him to think more maliciously towards the Outsider as he was sickened with the thought of her soul being forever trapped in this realm. After Emily was crowned, Corvo had begged the divine being to release her spirit from the Void—one of the few times he actually prayed to his ambiguous god. The Outsider had begrudgingly accepted his plaything's request after cautioning him that mastering his gift would be much more difficult without the heart's assistance, and stating that Corvo was "becoming less and less interesting everyday [he] was without [his] mask".

Their ship reached the port of Cullero about an hour before sundown, slightly earlier than Corvo had previously predicted. Though despite the setting sun, the air was still very warm; a nice change from the biting cold nights Gristol had to offer. After gathering his few possessions and personally thanking the captain for allowing him passage (despite being practically forced aboard), the nobleman set off into the crowded harbor, a sense of ignominy evident in his gate. Returning to his homeland wasn't as spectacular as he had hoped for, though this was probably attributed to the circumstances surrounding his arrival. It wasn't as if he was on vacation. He had sent himself into exile under the pretense of resignation to elude the Abbey of the Everyman's grasp. And that fact haunted him as he stared out into the throng of people, his people and their carefree way of living, with a scowl furrowing his rugged features. Everywhere life was thriving, despite the dwindling daylight. Rugged dock workers finished loading ships of various calibers with Serkonan exports, such as spices, olives, fabric, and wine, their hands callused from the coarse fibers of rope pulleys. Merchants ushered in crowds to attempt to sell off what little goods they had left from their farms, their rich voices raving how their prices were the best in the market. The pungent smell of freshly caught fish mingled loosely with the sharp scent of peppers and herbs sold at other stands, and their lingering aroma caused Corvo's mouth to involuntarily salivate.

Children laughed and chased stray mutts down the cobblestone streets, their blithe radiating an aura of cheerfulness. Withered old men sat outside of the serene corner cafes and played their life-long rivals in a calm game of checkers as they earnestly sipped on crimson wine and discussed the rising prices of wheat, the struggle to find good pimentos and other mild peppers now that the Gristolians wanted their hands on anything Serkonan, and other various simplicities of life. Besides the street lamps and interior lighting of cafes and restaurants, this rustic scenery was barren of the industrialization whale-oil had to offer, and the romance of these simpletons effectively slowed time. Men did not sample the bitterness of alcohol to soothe their difficulties or uplift their distressed spirits, but instead to enjoy its robust flavors, sipping slowly rather than taking large swigs. The murmurs of the rat plague clearing in Dunwall only touched the tongues of few, and the ignorance and lightheartedness of the speech of these gossiping fisherman's wives made it seem as if those horrid events were from an entirely different reality.

And yet this is not to say that "the jewel of the South" was free from its troubles, only that they were from a lighter shade of gray. Huddled down alleyways, one could spot troubled men throwing dice and gambling away the little coin they had made working the docks, or street rats studying their next large pocketed target. Salty corsairs lurked in shadowy alcoves, eyeing fishermen as they discreetly slipped bales of tobacco onto their unimportant boats. Unsavory women whispered in the ears of seemingly respectable constables, and their sensual words and trade loosened the purse strings of even the most dignified of men. Elderly gents crudely complained about the greed of the Trincis, and how they wished to revolutionize their hold with foreign advances that would most certainly uproot the allure and serenity of their culture. "Look at what their 'technology' has brought to Gristol," they remarked, "Plague and chaos, and yet the king rather lie in bed with those prudes and fill his pockets with more of our coin then uphold our traditions." People from all classes of life, from nobleman to street ruffian, from crying babe to wise old man, were gathered within this port, their rich olive skin and exotic Serkonan accents tickling Corvo's ears with their repressed familiarity as he witnessed the color of these events.

As the Lord Protector wandered up the wooden pier, observing the buoyant life, he scanned the area for the transport he would use to get to his brother's estate, which was located about an hour outside of Cullero. The distance was far too expansive to physically traverse and the sun would be setting fairly soon. He had opted to travel to his sibling's homestead rather than his father's villa for many reasons, but the main deciding factor was that his brother's was much closer and it would have taken him a few extra days to arrive at his parent's manor near the capital city if he had elected to go there instead. That, and he didn't really want to meet his newest step-mother, whomever she might be, for his father tended to remarry as often as he would change a pair of socks, and the anxiety of being forced to learn of his newest step-siblings and pretend to be joyful for his family's newest addition was not an emotion Corvo thought he could effectively fake with all the current turmoil looming over his character.

Serkonos was stubbornly primitive when it came to the utilization of Esmond Roseburrow's technology. The heavy metal rail cars owned by the elites of Dunwall were nonexistent everywhere in this Isle outside of its capital city, and no inner-city trains provided convenient transport for their citizens. As such, members of the working class, like well-off farmers and prominent stand merchants utilized more primitive, locally manufactured transportation methods to carry their goods, though were still powered by Gristol's patented whale oil batteries. They were made nearly entirely out of wood, a hazardous combination with the volatile liquid, and were open topped. The battery would latch onto the front with a magnetic attractor (which also doubled as a headlamp in the dark) and was steered with a tiller and simplistic brake lever. Streets lacked rails on which it could run and so they instead used large, wooden carriage wheels from the days where animals once pulled their carts, a sight which still could be seen in more rural villages. It took Corvo only moments to spot one of these vehicles, as a farmer precariously stacked cages of his prized chickens into the back of his motorized wooden cart. At first it was strange to look at, with its elongated bed for storing cargo and scrunched front which could only fit the driver, much different than the luxurious rail cars the once Royal Protector had become accustomed to traveling in alongside his empress. Nevertheless, it would serve his purposes, and so he approached the man, chest puffed outwards and hands held behind his back in a dignified manner.

"Excuse me, sir. May I ask where you raise such a fine array of poultry?" Corvo pleasantly complimented, giving a small smile to the gruff and grimy farmer. Pleasantries were always a good way to start when attempting to ask favors from strangers.

At the sound of Corvo's inquiry, the man set down his current caged fowl and turned, acknowledging his words. He was extremely tanned and bore prominent features, most astonishing of which was the bulbous mound of flesh that dared form his nose. Large wouldn't accurately describe the beak of this man. It was no wonder he raised chickens, for his nose was on par with the fattest hen thrashing wildly in its cage. Away from his face though, he was covered in random dirt and bird droppings soiled his plain clothing. The only part of his body that was relatively clean was his face, but then again that was hard to look because of the sheer wall partitioning his tiny eyes. "Eh? They're a' local. I gotta farm south of here, a little ways outside the city," he responded, his accent romantically rolling his words and causing them to eloquently bounce with a refined simplicity.

To prevent his shocked expression from curtailing their conversation, Corvo quickly averted his gaze to the fowls in the back of the man's cart, and continued to skirt around his question through flattery, "They're beautiful, and healthy-looking. South you say? My destination is also south. Perhaps I could employ your transport to aid my journey. I seek the Attan—"

"No, no, no! I don't gotta time to coddle you fancy foreigners," the farmer quickly cut off with an almost self-righteous scoff, and returned to packing away his goods.

Foreigner? Corvo was no foreigner. He had been born outside Karnaca, raised on its sandy beaches, and grew up under the warm embrace of its sun. Had his accent truly faded that much from his twenty-odd years away from his homeland, and tanned flesh washed away and paled with Gristol's constant rain and cold winters? The remark came as a shock to the typically resolute man, and its weight felt like a dagger puncturing his chest. Needless to say, his next words did not carry the same enthusiasm as before, and his gentility suffered greatly, "I'm not asking you to. Our destinations are on the same route. If you would just be so kind as to alleviate some of my—"

"Answer's a' same. Good day," the farmer cut off once more, and climbed into his carriage.

"100 coin!" the nobleman yelled, latching onto his belt pouch to assure its fullness, "That's more than you'd make on your best day."

The man robustly laughed at the snarky insult, pleasantly surprised with the gusto his dignified acquaintance displayed. However, such a particular sum was not something to turn down lightly, especially when there was little effort to be done on his part. That didn't mean he wasn't about to haggle though, for what type of merchant would he be if he did not hold out for the best deal? "You doubt the speed of my fine buggy! 150."

Fine buggy indeed…Corvo's eye grimly twitched as he struggled to maintain his air of refinement. This was robbery, and yet where else was a "foreigner" like him going to find another manner of transportation so late into the evening? Surely he would have to rent a room and wait for tomorrow to restart his search, something that would frustrate the noble more than losing a bit of coin. And so he obliged, with a circumstance of course, "You have a deal, but only if you take me to the door of the estate."

"You have ta' sit with the chickens…"

"I have no quarrel with that."

Corvo reminisced later that perhaps he might have quarreled had he known what a cramped and uncomfortable position the chickens would put him in. He managed to wriggle himself between two pillars of caged birds, which squawked loudly and flapped violently as they shifted about. The stench of feces, corn, and dirt, accompanied with the noxious fumes the whale-oil smoke rolling from the cart's exhaust made for a dreadful atmosphere as he sat on the tailgate of the wagon, feet dangling over the edge and occasionally scraping a protruding rock. The more inquisitive fowl pecked at him with curiosity, pulling strands of hair into their beaks and shedding wet feathers onto his coat. Although the stench and annoyance of the poultry along with the cramped niche he had forced himself into caused for an unpleasant experience, it reminded Corvo of his youth, chasing stray chickens about his father's villa with his brothers and herding them back into their pens. They seemed much nicer back then (the chickens, not his brothers); however he had never been surrounded by such large a flock before. The ride took an exasperatingly long hour, and the constant bumping of the road and poultry plucking at his clothing had forced the exhausted noble to stay awake during the entire trip. The farmer hadn't said much to him since the market, only asking for few general directions and the name of the estate of which he was heading to.

The Attano name was fairly unknown outside of the capital city of Karnaca. His family was very militaristic, but not esteemed enough to produce generals or fleet admirals. No, they were the type of family that made good lieutenants and captains, and the best swordsmen across Isle. Every male in their family held a sword by the time they could walk and was destined to succeed in the imperial military, under scrutiny of abandonment. Noblemen and princes traveled from their castles to train under his father's guidance, and even Aeton Trinci VI had learned the deadly art alongside Corvo and his brothers, though the young prince had rather dabbled in menial seafaring hobbies than attend to his training. What they lacked in exorbitant wealth and title, they made up for in reputation and esteem, so much though that Corvo had been handpicked by the king himself as a diplomatic gift to the empire, to be the first outsider to bear the title of Royal Protector. They were a proud and large family, though this reverence had since become tarnished with the dishonor the accusation of Jessamine's assassination had carried. News circulated the other Isles much slower than in Gristol, and still much resentment was attributed to Corvo's name from imperial loyalists who refused to acknowledge his publically pronounced innocence. However, this separation between the holds worked both ways. It was thankful that Serkonos wasn't actually apart of Gristol because of their mostly autonomous monarchy. It wasn't _their_ queen whom the Lord Protector was charged with killing, and as such their hatred wasn't as deep-seated as Dunwall's.

Corvo's brother's estate was located just off the main route headed south from Cullero. Large wrought-iron gates stood ajar at the entrance to the massive two-story manor, and cypress trees lined the entrenched dirt path leading up to the main house. The structure was the epitome of the rustic romance Serkonan architecture had to offer, with its white stucco exterior and red clay shingles adorning the roof. Grand, circular towers protruded from the estate's sides, and large windows and open balconies furthered its lavish atmosphere. Gardens and fountains interrupted the emerald landscape, and oleander shrubs towered beside the main door's terracotta terrace. As agreed, the chicken farmer pulled his wagon up to the entryway and dropped off its esteemed passenger, and was given the promised amount of coin for his trouble. Despite the discomfort of his transport, the bumpy ride was still better than the harsh swaying of any ship, and the peaceful route had brought a sense of tranquility to the distressed noble. With a final blast of oily smoke, the farmer's rig pulled away, leaving behind a rumpled and dirty Lord Protector, the setting sun casting a long shadow behind his silhouetted form.

* * *

_**Not very action-packed in comparison to the last chapter, but it was needed. Serkonos was hardly talked about in-game and it was in desperate need of some dimension. I see it as a very rustic and romantic blend of Mediterranean cultures, and mostly untouched by Roseburrow's Industrial Revolution. A big thanks to Anime Borat who has been helping me set up this scenery, and Futile Crux, my beta reader. As always, review! **_


	9. Chip on the Shoulder

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Nine – Chip on the Shoulder**

Emily's day in Dunwall Tower had passed excruciatingly slow without her protector by her side. After her run-in with General Tobias that morning, she had decided she would attempt to act as normal as possible, as to not alert anyone to her bodyguard's sudden, unexplained disappearance. She repressed her anger felt towards High Overseer Parrish and forced it deep inside, promising herself she would not allow her temper to boil over in front of her subjects, lest one of the Overseers prowling her Tower's grounds spot her discomfort and send word back to their Abbey, like a wolfhound retrieving a wounded hare for its master's pleasure. The young monarch had continued her day as she would any other, allowing her chambermaids to dress her and eating breakfast alone in the large dining room. Periodically her gaze would wander over to Corvo's empty chair, causing her to force back tears as they reluctantly began to well from her silent sorrow. However, her calm and seemingly rational demeanor did not cease her servant's inquiry, and as they attended to their Lady's service few would ask the dreaded question and Emily would immediately distract their thoughts through the assignment of some trivial task to preoccupy their wandering minds.

By midday the weather had turned out to be fairly clear and pleasantly cool, despite the dark clouds hovering far off in the horizon, an ironic notion that had soured the empress' expression while she pretended to enjoy her brunch in the courtyard. Of all the days to have fair weather, why couldn't today have stormed so that the sky may have personified her tears and thundered her malice? After brunch, Emily attended her geography lessons with Mrs. Borichevskiy, which she could never pronounce right. It seemed like every time the young woman attempted to speak the Tyvian tutor's surname, the old hag would decline her effort, and the explanation for its pronunciation would change with the seasons. Today she learned about each of her Isles, though she had explored this topic a thousand times in a thousand different lessons. There were four holds that made up her thalassocracy, a key word her teacher had persisted she memorize. They were: Tyvia, Morley, Serkonos, and at the center of its all, Gristol. Each Isle had their own monarchy, consisting of a king and queen, and was fairly autonomous. Dunwall was the capital of the entire empire, and in it resided its emperor or empress, who ruled over all their territory under discretion of a parliament and within the perimeters of a constitution. It seemed like more of a political lesson than a geographical one, and yet Mrs. Borichevskiy had insisted that a thorough understanding of the government of each Isle was directly attributed to the features of the landmass itself.

After her lessons, Emily had retreated down to the middle plaza of her courtyard, a wooden waster held firmly in her hand and her custom smallsword attached at her waist. Corvo would not wish her to become negligent in her training, and so she would practice by herself and repeat his constant suggestions a hundred times in her head, or mutter them softly under her breath in a deep and throaty tone, as if her Royal Protector stood just over her shoulder, diligently guiding her movements and correcting her mishaps. She had elected to take her real blade along with her faux one purely because of this solitary practice. The weight difference between the two weapons was astonishing, and rarely did she get to feel the cold metal of her court sword's hilt, or listen to the eloquent whisk as the deadly edge nimbly sliced through the air. Corvo had presented the blade to her on her sixteenth birthday, a sight which had made her eyes grow as wide as saucers, while all the other party-guests had grumbled under their breaths with jealousy, as the best gifts they could come up with were impersonal or seemingly drab for a growing young woman. "Of course _he_ would get her the perfect gift," they had quietly scoffed, "he _is_ her father, after all." Emily had known for a few years about her father's true identity, and still she played along with the nobleman's antics, under entreated advisement from Corvo. She did not fully understand why his rumor's integrity mattered so much to him now that she rightfully ruled her empire, and yet she indulged his plea, if not simply because of the butterflies that danced in her stomach whenever he was around.

The sword was beautiful, precision tailored to be perfectly balanced in her grasp. Its blade was slender and a feminine leaf-shape just thick enough to pronounce it a true sword and not one of its rapier cousins. The hilt was crowned with a silver sweeping guard, its ricasso was etched with the Kaldwin royal crest, and a cerulean blue and gold tassel was attached to its egg-shaped pommel. Its shape, size, weight, fluidity, even its aesthetics were all tailored just for her, and it was perfect in every way. Well…almost. For there was one feature that had caused her brow to lift in curiosity and cheeks pucker as she quietly grasped the blacksmith's daring cleverness. In addition to the brilliant colored fibers that made up her pommel's tassel, a small ornament hung and dangled loosely from its clasp. It was a cast of a rat, mischievously perched on its hindquarters and paws fiendishly cleaning its snout. The shrewd blacksmith had ingeniously voiced his disapproval for the "Rat Queen" as he crafted her gift, and Emily had never seen Corvo's face turn such a brilliant shade of red when they had discovered the tiny decoration later that day. He had raved about running the swordsmith out of business for being so brash as to insult his empress, and yet Emily applauded his ingenuity, pleasantly shocked at the weight the silver trinket bore. Not everyone agreed with parliament's political policies, and many saw the persistence of the Rat Plague as evidence of Emily's unwillingness to properly lead. She had vowed at the moment to leave the vile ornament dangling from her beautiful sword for as long as there were rats to be feared of—a silent oath to herself and her empire.

Diligently, she practiced her extension and riposte, constantly checking the angle of her feet and width of her arm. Next was a fleche, in which she made sure not to start too far from her invisible opponent, else he anticipate her movements and parry her daring leap. Her blade danced through the wind, conducting it as would a composer orchestrating his master symphony. "_Lead with your heart, for it sees through the folly of the mind_," Corvo's words pulsated throughout her soul as her imaginary villain lunged forward, forcing her to quickly counter and jab her blade through his gut, twisting the hilt and finishing off the assassin with fiendish delight. All of her contempt, her malice, and her woe was exerted onto the invisible entity, one which she had aptly named to further release the silent hatred ravaging her soul. _Parrish._

Suddenly, light applause echoed through the air, causing Emily to jump and spin around, sword at ready, "Whoa! Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you, Empress," the onlooker shrieked as he stumbled away from the armed woman, grasping onto his pounding chest. The man was Haddon Mercer, Royal Spymaster to the crown, and former Master of Coin in Parliament. He was lanky man originating from Baleton, with square features and dark brown hair combed over to one side. The sides of his head were streaked gray, despite his youthful features, and his eyes were the color of steel, like the glint given off from her brandished sword. He wore the traditional Spymaster's garb, with all of its opulent decor, but the most interesting feature was a golden brooch in the shape of a cat looking curiously over its shoulder that was pinned to his collar. He was a calm and calculating man, and his facial features never really divulged his true feelings on any matter. He was also the current purveyor of the Golden Cat, whose title he had discreetly procured after the establishment was nearly shut down by the city for concealing traces of the plague. Perhaps that's what made him an astounding businessman and agent to the Empress.

Upon realization of who had interrupted her private moment, Emily quickly sheathed her smallsword and composed herself. She had been so lost in her training that she had almost completely forgotten calling upon her loyal subject, and aimed to remedy her negligence by repressing her emotions once more, "You didn't scare me. I was just practicing," she sharply muttered, motioning for Mercer to follow as she began to trek up towards the gazebo.

"Of course, my Lady. I didn't mean to offend. I suspect you've called me on account of Lord Attano's disappearance?" the Spymaster humbly asked, hands clenching onto his signature leather-bound book that was tightly compressed to his chest. Besides Haddon himself, only the Outsider truly knew what names and terrifying accusations were scribbled in his little black book, and he never left his harem without it.

At Haddon's words Emily came to a lurching stop halfway up her courtyard steps, and her shoulders began to reluctantly quake. She hadn't informed anyone of Corvo's absence, and when her servants had questioned her she had redirected their curiosity with menial tasks. How could tale of her Royal Protector's desertion have already extended past John Clavering Boulevard? "Where did you hear this? I haven't made that information public knowledge yet," Emily snapped, perhaps harsher than she should have, for at her distress the posh gentleman gave an awkwardly sincere smile and continued to climb the stone steps.

"Never underestimate the speed at which good gossip travels through the air, lest you always be shocked at what rolls off the tongue of man. My kittens told tale of a ship sailing under the fog late last night. My heart aches to think of how you're fairing without your clandestine lover calming your spirits."

Emily did not move from her spot, petrified from the tellings of her subject. His words set her heart to pounding and her thoughts flew into a rapid tailspin of despair. Knowledge of her and Corvo's relationship was not known amongst the commoner's ears. In fact, it was not known anywhere outside the party involved. How many agents did Mercer have snooping about her Tower? And what brash motive could he have to throw her secrets to the wind? "How did you—"

"Information is my trade, my Lady. Information and discretion. It would be inattentive of me to be unaware of anything that happens within my Empress' Tower," his smile widened as he extended one hand in aid to his sovereign, which her trembling fingers warily grasped, "You need not worry about me, though. Far too many demons lurch from the shadows for you to fear the light of day."

"I pray you're right. For your sake," Emily warned, her tone dripping with lethal implication. They soon reached the gazebo and the young empress leaned rigidly over the railing next to her mother's grave, her perturbed gaze fixated on the tempest forming far into the distant sea. The wind gently howled as it was sucked towards the ominous waves, decaying leaves dancing along its path. If only she were a leaf, how easily she could be carried with Nature's decree. There would be no secrecy, no treacherous plots, no formalities, or anxiety her title bore, only the shifting of the wind and the changing of the seasons. "I need you to keep an eye on the Abbey for me. I fear they're conspiring against the crown, though I don't know their motivations. They've already succeeded in luring away my shield. I will not have them take my crown as well. Parrish is a fool if he thinks I will bow my head to his Order's ravings so easily."

"Yes, Empress. Anything else you would have of me?"

"Only your discretion."

"As always."

Why was the world so cruel? Couldn't men be happy with their position in life, do their duties, and aptly serve without disobedience? Perhaps if she were born a farmer's daughter things would have been simpler. The very worst that could come of that life would be the false promise of a factory worker's pension, and the reality of a whore. Even then it would have been a better life, for all that was demanded of those women were to lie on their backs and dream of faraway lands. Their actions, however distasteful, were not under constant crippling scrutiny or plagued with the terrifying realities of revolution and treason. Maybe if she were blessed a boy, life would have been easier. For men could satisfy their urges with whomever they desired and never be called into question by anyone other than nagging wives or selfish children. If she were a boy Mercer would have not felt as familiar as to indiscriminately outlay her heart's transgressions as if she were kin, or Parrish think her so harmless without Corvo by her side.

"My Lady, Lord Banister approaches," Mercer called, gaining Emily's attention as she turned to meet the newest company. She wasn't expecting a visit from her ex-regent today, but it wasn't necessarily an unwanted surprise. Her thoughts on Lord Lucius Banister changed with the tides, for one day she could hate his presence and the next desire his treasured council. Her wavering opinion typically hung on the first words that spilled from his lips and whether perceptions of his arrogance wedged their way through the cracks. He was rather pompous in the way he strode, with a smug smirk torquing his devilishly handsome façade. Nimble fingers twisted themselves in his wavy golden locks and his rosy cheeks reflected the warmth of the midday sun. He was only a year or two older than Corvo, but the two were polar opposites. Whereas Corvo's rugged, olive complexion was paramount to the rustic romance surrounding him, Lucius' pristine, ivory tone and posh exterior caused other woman to swoon. While Corvo was quiet and reserved, Lucius was loud and brash. And just as her Lord Protector was deadly with his sword, her cherished advisor could kill a man with his words.

As Banister leisurely strolled from the direction of the barracks, a tall guardsman walked attentively at his heels, shoulders back in a rigid and disciplined manner. Despite them being rather far away, Emily could tell the watchman was one of her Elite Royal Guard, handpicked by General Tobias. Although there were many men who were considered part of her protection, only few were considered "elite", marked by a dark blue armband with Tobias' crest—a crowned falcon encircled by golden laurel leaves. This guard was definitely one of those few.

"I came as soon as I heard the news! My sincerest apologizes, your Highness," Banister yelled as he scuttled up the courtyard to the gazebo where Emily and Haddon were standing, "If only I had been in court yesterday, perhaps I could have prevented this atrocity."

Yes, this was certainly one of those days Emily detested the noble lord, "It's not an atrocity. I'm the one that let Corvo go. He served my family well, but it was time for him to settle down and enjoy the rest of his life. I just…forgot his resignation went into effect today. That's what all this fuss is about," she nimbly lied, gaining a clever grin from her Spymaster. This gossip had gone far enough and with any luck it would cease there with her alleged proclamation.

"Of course. There would be no other way to pry Corvo from your side without my Lady's decree," Lucius eagerly agreed, false sincerity curtailing his pleasantries, "Nevertheless, he is gone and you are in need of a new Royal Protector to safeguard your wellbeing. May I present, Lt. Charles Anders!" He excitedly shouted, showing off the young sentry as if he were a new rail car for Emily's enjoyment.

"E'eryone calls me, Chip, ma'am," the watchman spoke as he bowed his head and removed his cap. It was clear he wasn't of high birth from the dialect in which he spoke, for it slurred together as from the mouth of a drunkard, but with enough respect to attest his sobriety. His hair was the color of rust, and freckles adorned his puffy cheeks. He was incredibly tall and towered over everyone present, but was as skinny as a fishbone, so the daunting aspect of his size was instantly subdued. The boy couldn't be a day over twenty, and his sword and pistol hung loosely from his emaciated waist.

"That's "your Highness" you nitwit!" Banister growled, delivering a humiliating slap to the back of the guard's head.

Emily sighed and crossed her arms, lightly shaking her head at the nobleman's outburst, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Lord Banister, but am _I_ not the one who chooses my Lord Protector? I'm sure…Chip, was it, is a fine solider, but I will elect my own bodyguard when I see fit."

"I understand your hesitance, my Lady, I do, and certainly you are entitled to choose your own protector. However, until you do decide on whom that man or woman may be, I urge you to allow the lieutenant to preserve your safety, if not only to ease my troubles. He can be like…a Protector-Regent!"

The empress' gaze lingered on her guardsman as she pondered Banister's proposition. Certainly she wouldn't gift this man the title of Royal Protector, for in her mind Corvo still possessed it, and he would return to her eventually. She only needed to hold out until then, and despite her love urging her to move on, she would wait until she could no longer, and only then would that title dissolve from his name. Until then, this solider would do for appearances, as to not alert the aristocracy of her weak heart, "Very well. Come along, Chip," she mumbled and turned from the two esteemed lords, retreating to her palace with Chip peering over her shoulder.

Lucius and Haddon patiently waited until the young empress was out of earshot before they turned to each other and began a conversation. Though their personalities were not as conflicting as Banister's and Corvo's, the two shared a bitter rivalry, and often exerted their hatred of each other through devious verbal duels with the twisting of words, enjoying the shock and disgust they would arise from the other's heart. Silence persisted as the posh men stared into each other's eyes, silver into gold, ice into fire.

"Lord Banister," Mercer finally broke, his unnaturally pleasant smile plastered so keenly onto his façade, "How have you faired since we last saw each other?"

Lucius gave out a small laugh as he folded his hands behind his back, his piercing blue eyes never wandering from his target, "That depends. Since you last saw me or since I last saw you?" That was the thing with spymasters, no one really knew where their agents lingered, or how easily one's words could be carried with the wind.

"The last time I saw you, you were discussing some concerning matter with the High Overseer. Just what could have been so important that you need converse so far from Parliament's ears?"

"What sins I confess to our righteous Overseers are of no interest to you, Royal Spymaster."

This time it was Haddon who laughed, shaking his finger in front of his foe, "Our Lady's temper burns hot without your counsel to quell her flames. I believe she suspects Parrish has much to do with her dearest protector's sudden absence. A single word of confirmation in her suspicions could bring your whispered conferences to an undesirable end..."

"Was it your own eyes which saw me or was it through the purrs of one of your little kittens?" Banister scoffed, crossing his arms brashly across his chest. He knew his counterpart all too well. Mercer would not get his hands dirty if he could avoid it, and instead used the assistance of his golden kitties or other stray alley cats to assist in the procuring of intelligence.

"It matters not."

"I disagree. The words of whores and degenerates lose their weight when their hands mingle in the Outsider's favors. Certainly her Highness would keep that in mind when speaking on such grave a matter. Now that I think of it, I distinctly recall seeing you even sooner than you claim to have seen me. Yes, I could have sworn to have spotted you snooping around Lord Attano's chambers only a few nights ago. I wonder how her Highness would react to allegations of planted evidence against the loyal lord."

The tension with thick with blood and electricity sparked between the two entities. Allegation against allegation, information against information, it was enough to keep the other quiet, while continuing to play the game. "You really should stop by the Golden Cat sometime soon so we can finish this discussion," Mercer continued his smile widening like a Cheshire cat, "Tell me! Is it true that you still can't sleep with a pillow for fear of that prudish Trinci woman smothering you in your sleep? It is shocking how you've managed to hide your heritage from every tongue in Parliament. Everyone but one."

Banister's eye twitched as his deranged smirk intensified, his teeth grinding themselves in glorious fury, "You know, I hear that even a pious man might indulge his ravaging curiosities under your roof for the right amount of coin. Pray tell, how much do you pay the orphanages to peruse their finest specimens?"

"Strictly speaking, such a thing would not be in accordance with the Empress' law."

"Strictly speaking."

"What are you two conspiring about?" a deep voice boomed, instantly turning the heads of both noblemen. General Tobias loomed over them with lip curled and brows furrowed, glaring fiercely at the Tower's guests, "Unless the empress has invited you two to dinner, then you should leave. Your deceptive tongues aren't welcome in front of the late Empress Jessamine's tomb." In synchrony, both lords glanced behind them to the marble grave marker, and were immediately filled with disgust. In the midst of their verbal battle, they had completely forgotten where they stood and the thought of the dead woman listening on their conversation from the Void turned their stomachs. Tobias huffed angrily to regain the esteemed visitor's attention. He had no tolerance for gossip, especially when it came from men. Women have all day to laze about and converse, but men had to secure the weight of the world, or at least that was his philosophy. Under the general's watchful eye, Haddon and Lucius quickly said their goodbyes and left Dunwall Tower, continuing to mutter hateful insults and allegations to the other's satisfaction. As the aristocrats disappeared to the main gate leading out to their rail cars, Tobias sighed and shook his head in disgust. "…Nobles."

* * *

_**Some fans of the TV/book series "Game of Thrones" might recognize bits of conversation this chapter from its Season 1. I found it fit rather well with the tension I was trying to convey, and so I adopted some quotes to fit my needs. I made some fairly major changes, but I still though I'd give credit where it's due. **_

_**Also, there will be another flashback in the next chapter, so don't worry about not getting your fill XD. So very slowly the plot unfolds, mwhaha… I hope many suspenseful questions have arisen from this chapter. REVIEW! ^_^**_


	10. Scars are Forever

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Ten – Scars are Forever**

The sun was setting in Serkonos as Corvo stood outside his brother's estate. After the large-nosed chicken farmer had driven off, Corvo had taken a moment to collect himself before knocking on the door, enjoying the fragrant smell of oleander and the tranquil trickling of the lavish terrace fountains. What seemed like minutes past before he knocked against on the large, wooden entryway, peering through the side windows in hopes to catch a glimpse of a wandering housemaid. He reeked of poverty. Wet feathers and whale oil vapor soiled his dignified attire. He also hadn't bathed in a few days, and his hair was thick with grim and smelt of pungent fish from the salty sea. Exhaustion pulled at his features and the sword and pistol hostlered at his waist implied lethality. In truth, Corvo wouldn't have opened the door for himself, for if it wasn't for the expense of his linens, one might have mistaken him for a shameless vagrant. Thankfully, it wasn't much longer until the echo of light footsteps uplifted the filthy lord's spirits. He peered through the side windows again to alert the traffic to his presence, and tapped lightly on the beveled glass.

When the door finally was opened, a woman stood in its frame. She was strikingly beautiful, with hair the color of fire that enveloped her hourglass figure. Emerald eyes contrasted brilliantly against her pallid skin, and in an instant Corvo knew she hailed from Morley. Her apparel was extravagant and sensual, effectively distinguishing her from any simple servant girl. She wore a floor-length, jade, silk evening gown with heart-shaped neckline which caused the typically reserved nobleman's cheeks to flush as he locked onto her exposed cleavage. The dress had no sleeves, and was held up by genuine pearls stranded onto golden thread. Sexuality was much more accepted in Serkonos than in any other Isle. Women hinting their cleavage or revealing the cusp of their ankles was fairly natural and not at all risqué. It was just a part of the romance that surrounded their serene culture. This foreign woman had certainly immersed herself within this lifestyle, entirely abandoning the bleak and hardy ways of her heritage. While Corvo was seemingly lost in her radiance, he found himself pondering if he had the right address. He didn't remember his brother getting married, and was sure he would have at least sent him a letter, seeing as they were close growing up. "Can I help you?" the woman snipped, her pencil thin eyebrows rising in disgust as she grimaced at his dirty exterior.

At the sound of her voice, Corvo's wandering eyes darted back to the host's face and his cheeks grew hotter as he realized he had been staring too intently, "Is this the Attano residence?" his voice quaked, throat dry and scratchy from the uncertainty surrounding his situation.

She didn't actually respond to his question, only rolled her eyes and called behind her, "Drusus!"

Drusus. A wave of relief rushed his senses at the sound of his brother's name. At least he hadn't forgotten the address. At the woman's call, a pudgy little man waddled into the Grand Foyer. He was horrid and disfigured, and rose no higher than a woman's bosom, with shaggy black hair and the beginnings of a goatee. Gentlemanly apparel adorned his dwarfed body: a leather frock coat that nearly swept the ground and a satin vest tailored specifically for his unusual stature. His disproportionate arms extended outwards with enthusiasm as he stared up at the disheveled man lingering in his doorway, a large smile lifting his plump features.

"By the Outsider! Corvo, is that you?" he boasted, "Look how old you've grown! Your face has more deep-seated wrinkles than the fat on my ass!"

Corvo laughed, dropping to one knee and gave short but firm embrace to his dearest relative, "It's good to you see you too, Drusus."

Dwarf by nature, Attano by blood, young Drusus never seemed to wander too far from their father's scrutiny. Being born in a militaristic household came with certain expectations of greatness, and when one lamb failed to stay on the path, they were certain to be called a black sheep. Although he showed talent in swordsmanship—as did all Attano children—his physical disabilities squandered any practicality this acquired skill would produce. The older Drusus grew, the more of a shadow was cast over him by the success of his many brothers, and when Corvo departed for Gristol, the built pressure from the constant denial finally caved. He left Karnaca and his father's villa to find his own path, forfeiting his inheritance to begin a solitary lifestyle outside Cullero, where he had started a prosperous export shipping business.

"So tell me, to what do I owe the great honor of having her Majesty's protector gracing my doorstep?" he teased, jabbing Corvo in the knees with his elbow, "Our reigning sovereign hasn't sent you on another scavenger hunt, has she?"

Corvo chuckled, shaking his head. The last time he had seen his brother was when Jessamine had sent him to procure aid from the other Isles to alleviate the destruction of the Rat Plague. It was a dark time and not as cheerful of a visit as he would have liked, however, neither was this one. This time though, the banished nobleman had decided to hide his strife, for he was not selfish enough to allow his sorrow to become infectious, "No, actually I'm on vacation. I was hoping I could stay here for a while, if it's not a hindrance."

And yet with his words, all life seemed to be sucked from the room, "Seven years! I haven't seen you in seven years and you suddenly show up on my doorstep asking for favors?" the dwarf's tone grew cold as he stared menacingly at his brother. The air grew thick with anticipation as Corvo held his breath, swallowing a lump sitting uncomfortably in his throat. Perhaps he had been away from family for too long, however it was a hazard of the job, and he hadn't expected his brother to throw him out on principle. The silence dragged on for a few more moments before Drusus suddenly burst into robust laughter, clutching onto his gut to contain his amusement, "Hah! Scared you, didn't I?" he mocked, snapping his fingers repetitively before a fat servant lady hobbled into sight, "Take his bags upstairs, and set another plate at the table. We have company."

"He smells like a pigsty," the red-headed woman snapped, covering her nose as it turned up into the air.

"Give the man a break, dear. He can take a bath after dinner. I'm sure he's had a long journey," Drusus sighed, "Oh, I almost forgot. This is my lovely wife, Camille."

Corvo watched as the fat old hag carried his singular duffel bag up the grand staircase, "When did you get married?" he asked, hiding his surprise. It wasn't that he didn't expect his brother to wed just that…well…he didn't expect his brother to wed.

"Shortly after you left here last time. I would have sent you an invitation to the wedding, but you were in prison."

Ah, prison. Those were the days. Being beaten on a nearly daily basis till he passed out, threatened with more torture if he didn't sign that damned confession Burrows and Campbell kept dangling in front of his barely conscious eyes. Of course it was all in the past, but his body still bore the scars of those long six months. His back was mutilated with raised flesh from the constant flogging sessions and faint burn marks traced his chest and abdomens from the hot irons. Those were definitely the worst. Just the noxious smell of burning skin was enough to make a man heave and the aroma lingered sickly in his nostrils for days afterwards. The human body was amazingly resilient, and time had allowed most of these scars to heal entirely or become faint enough for most women to find attractive. He remembered when Emily had first seen his scars, and how her face had reflected such terror and awe. She was fourteen then, and wept at the sight, and if Burrows hadn't already expired in the depths of Coleridge, she would have certainly had his head.

When his mind flashed back to the present, he was standing in his brother's dining room, although he didn't quite know how he had gotten there. The area screamed Serkonan interior design, with its stucco walls, golden decorations, and overall open feeling as the large back window flooded the room with sensual moonlight. It was far too hot for a fireplace to be necessary, and instead the lighting came from a golden chandelier perched over the ebony dining table, which was filled with food. The spicy scent of the banquet spread burned Corvo's nose, making his stomach loudly churn as his mouth salivated. It had been so long since he had had genuine Serkonan dishes, and he yearned for their irrationally hot peppers to scorch his tongue. There was octopus and prawn, ham and veal, rice and beans, and the overwhelming scent of saffron and paprika to make Corvo want to forget all his manners and drive in mouth-first.

As everyone took a seat, the disheveled man couldn't help but find himself thoroughly speculating on which item to have first. They all looked so amazing, but certainly his stomach couldn't handle all these spices. Perhaps when they were children, or if he had stayed in Karnaca, but his taste buds had since become sensitive to all of his favorite dishes, tainted with the oil saturated, starchy, salt-and-pepper corrupted foods that Gristolians adored. The first course was soup, fish soup, layer in spices, with chile peppers floating within, and like a child left unattended in a candy store, Corvo went at it as soon as the servant got her hands out of the way.

"You'll probably want to eventually take a visit to see Father, so you'll need to know his current living situation," Drusus laughed, shaking his head as he watched his sibling devour the table.

"It's changed?" Corvo choked as he forced down a lump of fish as to not talk with his mouth full. Sure he was starving, but he did have some manners left…some. His father always went through a slew of women that changed with the cycle of the moon. Most of the time it was the women who left him, saying how he was "too difficult to deal with" or they caught him cheating on them with his next wife. Even Corvo and Drusus had different mothers, but those were from the earlier years, when marriage seemed to actually mean something to their dad. Step-siblings came and went, and the older children of the vast Attano family tended to instantly forget their names, or take bets how long this wife would last. After Wife Four, the head Overseer at the local Abbey of the Everyman refused to divorce him anymore, and so their father went to King Trinci himself to file permission to have all his divorces and annulments processed solely at the courthouse, without religious interference. How he hadn't gone bankrupt from the alimony was beyond comprehension.

"Of course it's changed! We're on Wife Seven. I think she's Gristolian, but I'm not quite sure. Oh, and you have a new sister."

"Wait, what happened to Wife Six?"

"Annulled two weeks in."

"Ah. So how many siblings do we have now?"

"I think that evens the count out to twenty. Twelve girls and eight boys."

"No new boys? I'll give this marriage another pregnancy before we're on Eight."

Through this entire exchange, Camille just rolled her eyes. It was impossible for her to know the irrationality of their father, and why Corvo and Drusus laughed at his love affairs as if they were a theater drama. Seven wives was too much woman for one man, now pushing his sixties and still relentless. He was only interested in male children to teach the art of swordsmanship to, though he had been noted to teach a few of his daughters in the past if they displayed remarkable talent from early on. The children he taught this skill to resided in the Attano villa, as the rest (mostly female) were thrown out with their mothers, though it wasn't as horrible as one might believe. If the woman produced a son, they were taught for free and the wife was offered a private cottage and received alimony for the rest of her life. If she bore a daughter who didn't display the gift, she was paid a handsome fee for the nine months she had resided with the pig-of-a-man, and then sent on her way, presumable to live with their parents again. Either way, they got money, which was what most his wives were after in the first place.

It was extraordinarily refreshing for Corvo to be able to relax his guard to such an extent and just enjoy a meal and family. The fish broth was insanely spicy, making him sweat as he stuffed bread into his mouth to alleviate the delicious pain. He had definitely been away from this cuisine for too long, and the perspiration on his brow was clear evidence of his blunder.

"I've heard you've been a real lady-killer yourself, huh brother?" Drusus smirked, biting nonchalantly into his pepper.

Corvo began to choke, pounding his chest and gulping water to force down the chunks of bread. As he cleared his throat, his eyes darted coldly across the table, instantly destroying the cheerful mood. How dare he bring up _that_ at dinner! Poking so casually at his failures, it was horribly rude and not at all the familial atmosphere he was searching for in his "vacation". His brother was known for his sardonic remarks, but even mentioning that scaring tragedy was crossing a clear line, something that could not be remedied with a simple apology. He stood from the table, the chair screeching unpleasantly against the wooden flooring, and excused himself with false politeness, his words sneering as he attempted to maintain his anger, "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'm going to go take that bath now," he scowled and left the room.

"Ah, come on! I didn't mean it like that! Corvo!" He could hear his brother calling from down the hall. Even if his words weren't intended to offend, he should have policed his tongue more carefully, especially when skirting around that topic. It seemed like the entire world only remembered the failures of Corvo Attano, how he had allowed an empress to be killed and her daughter kidnapped right in front of him, without taking a single scratch. They knew nothing about Daud's men and how their powers had eluded his sheer skill, and some still believed that he was the true murderer. Surely, he would go down in bias history books as the "Empress-Slayer". No one would care for his crowning achievements, like how he had become the first Royal Protector to be born outsider Gristol, serving two empresses consecutively. They would never know about how he had single-handedly brought down the tyranny of the usurper Burrows, and restored balance to the Empire of the Isles. No, the only two things history would mistakenly remember was how he had loved Jessamine Kaldwin, and how he had then allowed her to die in front of his eyes.

Though he didn't actually know where the bathroom was, it didn't take him too long to find a servant to lead the way. A warm, soothing bath was just what he needed to calm himself, and clean off the rotten smell of poultry putrefying the surrounding air. Their bathroom was luxurious, even more so than the washroom in Dunwall Tower, which was an astonishing feat in itself. The tub wasn't standalone as they had in the palace, but actually embedded into the floor, which allowed for it to be far larger than normal. It was if he were about to bath in a fountain, or a very small indoor pool, and the grandiose quality the room possessed allowed Corvo to silently forgive the heinous crime his brother had committed. Marble flooring gave the area a precariously slippery layout, and bronze-cast statues of whales and random mythological creatures decorated the walls and tub. Even the faucet was cleverly hidden in the mouth of a bronze bass, with the handles disguised as its tail. Steam obscured the fancy wall molding and ornate paintings ornamenting the walls, which thankfully were not Sokolov originals, for he had grown tired of seeing the Tyvian drunkard's success. His brother had fared rather well without their father's money, even better in fact, with a beautifully exotic wife, grand estate, and profitable business to shadow his shortcomings. Drusus was the pinnacle of the bourgeoisie class, characterized by earned wealth and set apart from the ludicrous nature of politics.

The servant who directed him to the washroom generously asked to take his clothes so she could clean them, but he refused, not wishing to undress before her. It was probably common for the other heads of the household, but he was far too modest to allow a stranger to see him even remotely in the nude and quickly pushed her out the door so that he could strip his soiled attire. He unbuckled his belt and threw it over a chair, careful to place his pistol and sword on a linen dresser. His pants came next, in which he fumbled through his pockets to assure their emptiness, only to brush against something cold and smooth. His hands wrapped around the small trinket and a solemn sigh escaped his lips as he pulled it from the depths of his pockets. He had almost forgotten it was hiding there—the small, stone brooch Emily had gifted him for his birthday years ago. Life seemed so much simpler back then, before Banister's regency ran up and Emily had to face the gruesome reality of politics. As he stared into his reflection given by the shiny moonstone, his mind began to reminisce back to the day Emily had given him his present, which was coincidentally also the night she had first seen his scars.

* * *

_The Isles were well into the Month of Rain, and just as its name foretold, Dunwall was overwhelmed by constant dark clouds and thunderstorms. The bad weather had loomed over the capital for a week straight, barely lifting for a moment and threatening to create another flooded district as the tides thrashed against the outdated floodgates. I unfortunately had to wander outside for some menial reason I can't remember for the life of me, and within the mere seconds my body lingered within the brutal tempest, I had become soaked to the bone. My clothing acted as a second skin, and my hair annoyingly stuck to the sides of my face. Emily had found my shivering exterior to be quiet amusing, laughing wildly as water pooled at my feet. There was not an inch of me that had successfully escaped the torrential rain, and as I watched my empress uncontrollably giggle at my sopping appearance, I couldn't help but chuckle a little too. _

_I ushered myself to my room to change into some dry clothes, my body shaking from the sudden change in temperature. Today was my birthday, although at my age that didn't amount to much, but I was still remember being rather aggravated at the fact that I was going to get catch a cold on my "special" day. Emily was still young, fourteen years, and she always urged me to allow her to throw a small party, despite my constant disapproval for such an event. I explained to her that a public celebration would only be more of a hindrance for me because of all the consideration for security that had to be set in place before anything could happen, and that if she really wanted to make me happy, she would gift me with an overall calm and boring day to allow me to ease my constant guard. The only events that would happen to even remotely hint that it was the day of my birth was a cake Emily and I would share around lunch, and the random presents select members court would give me. Haddon Mercer, the Royal Spymaster tended to gift a day's pass to the Golden Cat, though I rarely got to indulge his offering. I hated Lucius Banister, and he hated me, so all he would give me was some meaningless card which would become kindling for my fireplace. Callista often bestowed me with a bottle of wine, and Cecilia and Piero from the Hound Pits sent me a cask of whiskey and their best wishes. Emily's presents were always the best and most meaningful, and were typically a new drawing I could add to my collection. However, she hadn't given me it yet, so I wasn't quite sure if that was indeed also this year's present. _

_I entered my room, stripped off all my clothes, and I stood in front of my hearth for a few moments before slipping on some pants. The heat from the fire worked wonders to dry my dripping locks, and felt amazing against my icy flesh. I scrubbed my head with a towel and shook out the remainder of my hair's moisture. Thirty-four. I was thirty-four, over half way through my expected lifespan, and yet I had accomplished more than most men do in an entire generation. Of course, I did have a little help, a thought that came to me as I gazed down at my marked hand. My eyes eventually wandered onto my chest as I examined my physique. I wasn't in terrible shape, my abs and pectorals were clearly defined, though not as firm as say a boy just graduating the military academy. A few scars and nicks traced along my midsection, but the worst was a long burn mark that extended across my ribs. It had greatly faded since I had first received it, turning more brownish than the annoyingly obvious salmon color it had once glistened. The nastiest scars were across my back, which I was grateful for not being able to see. The only mirror I had in my room was a small wall mounted one, and it wasn't large enough to allow me to lower my self-esteem as I gazed at the atrocity that was my backside. _

_Six months of torture under the brutal arm of that mute bastard, Morris Sullivan, residing in our dungeon had scarred me for life. A web-like construction of raised flesh disfigured my back, created by the severe flogging I had to endure as punishment for my suspected treason. Sometimes small pieces of whale bone were bound to the ends of the cat o' nine tails, which tore my skin in odd ways, and I would typically pass out from pain and blood loss. The only reason the Royal Interrogator hadn't lost his position (or head) was simply because he was so damn good at it, and many times during my questionings I had pondered about the benefits of signing over my false guilt. It was still sensitive to the touch, though it could have been entirely psychological, and I was slightly self-conscious about my appearance. But these were not the thoughts I wished to reminisce about on this supposedly happy day, and so I pushed the past from my mind and grabbed my gray undershirt which I had laid over my bed. _

_As I forced my arm into one of the sleeves, a loud thud and high pitched gasp immediately turned my attention to behind me, and I whisked around to meet little Emily's terrified expression. Her hands covered her mouth as she silenced her exclamation and her large doe eyes stared at me with this strangely sublime look. A small box with a white bow had fell from her grasp onto my floor, though neither of us moved to pick it up as we were both locked in our awkward gaze. She hadn't seen me without my shirt on since my imprisonment, and surely the sight of my mutilated flesh had startled her. I had hoped to quickly remedy this by putting on my other sleeve, but as I covered my exposed skin tears began to trickle down her cheeks and she rushed towards me and grappled around my waist. _

_"I'm sorry. I know I'm ruining your birthday by crying but I just can't help it!" she sobbed, burying her face in my stomach. I silently cursed myself for not locking my door and bent down to one knee as so I could be at her height. _

"_You're not ruining anything," I whispered kindly, taking her face gently in my palms and wiping away her tears with my coarse thumbs, "I didn't mean to frighten you."_

_She huffed and crossed her arms at my remark, which made me smile from her stubbornness,_ "_I wasn't scared. It's just so sad. I'm sorry." Of course she's would attest to being frightened, that would amount to weakness on her behalf, and Emily always attempted to display her bravery and resilience even when her emotions would dictate otherwise.  
_

"_You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault, and you shouldn't feel any blame. The only guilty persons were Burrows and Campbell, and they got everything they deserved. Trust me." Yes, they had indeed gotten exactly that was coming to them, and I had personally assured they served their due penance. I turned the corrupt High Overseer into a heretic that even his own men shunned, and had blared Burrow's heinous acts for the world to hear and judge him accordingly. I even stood watch as dear Mr. Sullivan perfected his craft along Hiram's backside, and a sadistic smile had crept up my lips as the sweet scent of irony teased my sanity, "Now what's in that box?"_

_Her eyes suddenly lit up as she remembered her gift and she snatched up the box off the ground, extending it outwards with a large smile uplifting her previously solemn façade, "Happy birthday!" she sang as I took the gift box and thanked her, carefully unwrapping the bow. After tearing through the tissue paper to get to the bottom, I uncovered a small piece of jewelry, an elliptical brooch, made of a cream-colored tumbled stone with a golden frame. The inside was hollow, and through the front I could peer into a window-liked fixture which revealed a singular flower constructed masterfully of hair. Hair art was typically a gift of romance or for mourned loved ones, but were also given as tokens of affection between family members. I could see how she would consider me as family, and I was grateful for the sentiment. _

"_It's beautiful. Thank you, Emily. It's a rose, right?" I asked as I pinned it on the collar of my shirt._

"_No, Corvo, a gardenia. And it's my hair, so we'll always be together," she said as she latched around my neck. _

"_I'm never going to leave your side anyways," I muttered, securing her in my strong grasp. Tenderly, I kissed the top of her head,"Never."_

* * *

And yet he would break that promise to secure her safety. He played with the golden locking mechanism as his trousers fell around his ankles, tracing its ornate edges carefully with his fingertips. He gazed at the hair art, twisted into the shape of a fully bloomed gardenia, and it seemed so obvious now that Emily had had a crush on him for the longest time. Gardenia was the flower symbolizing secret love, according to some female florists who had begun creating an entire language with meaning of flowers. It was a popular trend among females to arrange the perfect, significance arrangement, and an act of sensitivity among gentlemen to bestow a flower upon his lady with the proper connotations. Emily was a clever girl, laying her feelings right under his nose and knowing he wouldn't grasp the connection.

When he finished undressing he slunk into the steaming water, and relaxing groan escaping his lips as the warmth swallowed his shoulders. This was just what Corvo needed—a solitary moment of relaxation to rinse away the guilt and sorrow corroding his heart. He shut his eyes and let his body to float with the bath water's will, allowing the outside world to fade away under the fog of serenity and peace.

* * *

_**Realistically, this flashback should have been in here way sooner, but I actually forgot about the "smooth stone brooch" that fell from Corvo's trouser pocket in chapter one. My bad (-.-). The next chapter is a large flashback to make up for the vast amount of third person action I've had going on, and will emphasize at lot more on Corvo and Emily's intimate relationship.**_

_**The chapter title is questionable, but I couldn't think of a better one. Pm me if you have one you consider better. xP**_

_**Oh, and hair art was a popular trend starting in the 1600's all the way through the late Victorian-era. It's actually really cool and morbidly pretty, and even famous people like Napoleon Bonaparte wore his wife's hair in the form of a pocket watch chain on his person. History, bitches. **_


	11. Lecherous Angel

_**Warning: this chapter contains explicit, sexual content which some readers might find unappealing. If you don't wish to read it, I suggest you unfortunately just skip this chapter. It's rated M for a reason, and this is why.**_

* * *

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Eleven — Lecherous Angel**

_The night was Fugue Fest, new year's eve and holy day of legal anarchy celebrated throughout the Isles. It was the one night of the year that man may do as he pleases outside of the constraints of law without fear of repercussion. Theft, vandalism, blasphemy, even murder was all forgiven on this sacred day, seen as a purifying ritual to cleanse one's soul in preparation for the next year. Only three people of importance were not allowed to participate in Fugue Fest; the High Overseer for he was the orchestrator for the day's beginning and end, the Emperor or Empress for fear that in their lawless delusion they would beget a war, and the monarch's Royal Protector to safeguard their charge against the almost certain influx of assassination attempts and to force them to stay their own hand. _

_While Hiram Burrows was a paranoid traitor, there was one good thing that came out of his tyrannical reign—the safe house. And though it had served him well as a conference room for him and his generals, it had since been completely transformed into a space fit for a young empress. Bannered curtains covered the cemented windows, and the numerous bookshelves had been cleared out to allow for a small lounge/recreation area. The room with the cots for the few patrolling Overseers had been changed out with one larger bed for my Lady's comfort, and the space underneath the upper balcony had been transformed into a dining room. The only place that stayed relatively the same was the upper balcony, and I had kept that Wall of Light intact in case of emergencies, despite my distaste of Sokolov's technologies._

_As with every year this night occurred, the empress and I would stay in the rooftop safe house for the entire day, waiting patiently for the Abbey to conclude this period of permissible chaos and for life to return to its dull norm. We would play games, converse, drink wine, and listen to music audiographs as we lazed the day away. It was as if the outside world did not exist and reality just consisted of us two, enclosed in our lavish bunker. No windows indicated the time of day and the walls were too thick to allow distant sounds to penetrate our solitary companionship. Emily could finally rest her mind from the anxiety of politics, forget about the persistence of the plague, and just act as a normal sixteen-year-old girl for one night. She smiled and laughed, and her blithe and certain security allowed me to be able to relax my guard. It was my favorite holiday of the year, despite the stress and preparation that went into guaranteeing this emotion's prevalence._

_All our meals had to be pre-prepared and meticulously checked a dozen times to undermine the chance of poison. The guards stationed on the rooftops who had elected to not participate in this night's ritual were carefully selected by myself and investigated for any treasonous desires twisting their thoughts. My personal investments in the security measures our safe house implemented were inspected and even I ran mock trials to ensure I could not easily penetrate their walls. So much labor was put into protecting my empress' spirits that one would call me insane to think this holiday my most preferred, but the simple smile Emily gave as I dissolved all her troubles made my efforts worthwhile. And yet as the night slipped away, so did Emily's smile._

_At first I thought it was the wine. She was young and didn't have a high alcohol tolerance, and sometimes went over her limit. Though normally her drunken stupor would cause for many fits of humor at seemingly nothing, or other silly antics that would no doubt cause me to laugh alongside her as I tended to her clouded judgment. This is not to say I would allow her so easily to become inebriated under my watchful gaze, but it was not my place to dictate her actions, and though I gave constant advice, her relentless nature caused her to typically disregard my efforts. However, her attitude was more of chagrin than the aloofness losing her sobriety would conjure, and so I looked for another cause for the absence of her smile. _

"_How high do you think the death toll is now, Corvo?" Emily sighed, taking a long swig of her rosé wine. She was always so sympathetic for her people, to the point where her own sanity was at risk. She cared so much for the masses that hated her, and ever since Banister had left her side their menial complaints had turned more outwardly vicious. They muttered ill-will towards their "Rat Queen", despite the all time low of the plague's infected population, and Emily's most recent decree to restore the Flooded District to its former glory had turned many heads in Parliament. She detested Fugue Fest, despite my love for the holiday, simply for the numerous "innocents" that she felt would be wronged in the lawlessness of the night. Many homes would be pillaged for family heirlooms, men would kill their best friends over a drunken quarrel, and woman would be raped trying to flee from the chaos. It wounded her heart to know there was nothing she could do to protect these victims, and so she drank to subdue her troubled mind. _

"_The Abbey is open for those who wish not to partake in the night's festivities," I reminded her as I leaned against the dining area's wall, watching her slouch in her chair at the table. _

_My remark seemed to silence her for a moment as she considered this fact, but not enough to erase her sarcastic tone, "If you could do anything you wished tonight, what would it be? And don't say you'd be protecting me," she snipped, and took another drink._

"_Hmm…I haven't really thought of what I'd do. I only have one night, so I suppose I'd just go get drunk somewhere and end up with some woman. Nothing too exciting." It was the truth; I hadn't put much thought into my actions if I was able to participate. Protecting the empress on this sacred holiday had been my life for the past twenty-some years, and I had grown accustomed to it, as if it were tradition._

_I'm not sure if my words pleased her or if the alcohol had started to kick in, but her bad mood began to subside, and that wondrous smile peered from its hiding place, "How long have you been without a woman's embrace, Corvo? Your duties tend to prevent you from pursuing any healthy relationship. Exactly how long has it been since your last...release? And I don't mean through your own actions."_

_Nothing could have prepared me for that question. I coughed and choked, wine came spewing from my lips, and embarrassment flooded my body, "Emily! That's inappropriate!" I wheezed, frantically trying to regain my composure, "You shouldn't ask a gentleman that."_

"_That long, huh?" _

"_Emily!"_

"_Fine, fine, I'll stop teasing you," she laughed and set down her empty glass, "Close your eyes though."_

_My sigh filled the air as relief rushed over me. Obeying her wish, I covered my eyes with my hands, "Are we playing a game?" I asked. Hide-and-seek was her favorite way to pass the time, and since it would only be a few more hours until Parrish declared the order restored, I figured she was growing bored of lazing about and talking on depressing topics. Although, I wasn't quite sure how we'd play the game in such a small space. Certainly I would be able to find her easily, and vice versa. It confused me slightly, and yet I was grateful she had dropped that embarrassing conversation._

"_Sort of," was all she responded, which only confused me further. She hadn't told me what to count to, or to even start to count, and as time lingered on she didn't run away and hide. Though I couldn't see her, I knew she was still before me, the soft patter of dainty feet telling me she had crept closer. She stopped so close I could feel the warmth from her skin. A gentle hand caressed my chest and my heart pounded in response. What was she doing? Why wasn't she hiding? Was she testing my sight? Trying to make sure I wasn't cheating? All these questions flashed through my mind as I felt her grab onto a handful of my shirt and pull herself onto her toes with a small grunt. The scent of sweet fruit danced with the bitterness of alcohol on her breath, and I could feel my cheeks growing brighter. Suddenly something soft and wet pulled on my bottom lip, and my eyes snapped open. She was…kissing me?! I didn't think, I just grabbed her arms and pushed her away as firmly as I could, a look of horror twisting my façade. _

"_Wh-what are you doing?!" I yelled, squeezing her shoulders to prevent mine from shaking. What had came over her? She looked sober enough, but her actions begged to differ. I don't know why I was shaking, whether her actions truly startled me or if it was the whole uncertainty surrounding her sudden attraction towards my person, but I couldn't stop. My eyes bulged and my teeth clenched as I scoured my brain for a reason to explain this unexpected affection, and my breath was heavy with the rapidly accumulating stress._

_"I'm giving you your wish," she breathed seductively, staring up at me with this large, doe-eyed look. _

_My wish? Was that what this was all about? Did she feel obligated to give me my desire since she was technically the reason I couldn't go out and lay with some random floozy? It was foolishness, and certainly some of this was attributed to the cocktail of booze and female hormones clouding her youthful mind. "I-I didn't mean you. I apologize if I confused you," I stumbled and turned my back to her to hide my blushing face. Guilt plagued my thoughts as I tried to calm myself. If only I had known she had taken my answer so seriously I would have suggested to don my mask and go terrorize the nobles. That would have made for a more interesting turn of events._

_Her arms wrapped around my waist, "I do not see a problem. I am a woman and you are a man. Your desire was to be with a woman, and since there are no other women around…" she whispered, her delicate fingers tickled up my thigh._

_I instantly grabbed her wrist as I felt the blood begin swell in my groins, and spun around to glare into her eyes, "Stop these foolish antics right now!" I seethed, watching her jerk away. Immediately, I hated myself for scolding her, for yelling at my empress—__the__ empress. I had stumbled too far over the line and mentally cursed myself for my blunder. No amount of apology could fix the horrible glare she shot, like a dagger puncturing my lung and painfully taking away my breath, and her anger instantly ceased my shakes._

_Her eyes turned cold as she forcefully pushed me backwards with much disdain, causing me to bump my head crudely onto the wall. "I'm tired of being treated like a child, Corvo! By Parliament, by the nobility, by my citizens—but you're the worst of them all. You still see me as that scared little orphaned heiress whose mother you couldn't save and who beckoned for you to sweep her off her feet and carry back to her throne. Good job, well done, Corvo, you saved the empire! But that was six years ago. I am a woman now, yet you are so reluctant to see that simple fact. No matter how I try to approach you, attempting to break that blockade you so carefully guard your true feelings with, you stand there, all high and mighty with your creed, and abolish all my advances. I'm sick and tired of playing games with you! Of tip-toeing about my true feelings, and never taking the leap of faith. So here they are, my feelings, all of them. Look upon me and cease your prudence!" She was angry, no, beyond that. She was livid, and I had never seen such fire directed towards me. I had reprimanded her as would a parent, and my mind was blank of ideas of how to repair my mistake. Normally every action I took was carefully thought out, and yet she had caught me so off guard that for once I was speechless. All I could do was try to dissuade her advances and calm her temper, lest this blaze grow quickly from beyond my control._

"_You don't understand..."I groaned, rubbing my head. Was that how she thought I saw her? As a child? Perhaps I was too protective of her, but it was my duty, and I loved her as if she were my blood. Maybe that feeling was misplaced. It had been appropriate with her mother was still alive, when Emily had thought of me as a father-figure, but as she voiced her opinion I realized this feeling had expanded beyond my comprehension. She…loved me, or at least she thought she did, for girls fell in and out of love too easily, and certainly the strain of running a vast empire alone had caused a hole which she thought I could fill. I couldn't bring myself to think of her the same way, though, no matter how beautiful time had forged her. _

"_What?" she spat, "Do you fear how my mother would have perceived you bedding her only daughter, whom you saw suckle on her teat and grow into the woman you see before you now? Aren't you the one who told me to lead with my heart? Or would you see it crushed for fear of reprisal from the dead?"_

_Oh, now she was using my words against me—clever girl, "You're far too young, Emily. You're sixteen. I'm thirty-six! You deserve to give yourself to someone who can take care of your for the rest of your life, someone who you can give children to. Like…Lord Byron, he's a poet! You like poetry! I don't like any of those fancy things." I reasoned, hoping she would soon drop the subject. My head was throbbing, my face was burning, and I was running out of excuses to ward off her pleas. _

"_Lord Byron is an eccentric pervert. You say I'm too young, that you're falling over your peak. That I should focus on suitors who'd just as easily marry me for my title than my spirit. I know you're not an ambitious man. You would never rise against me, or seek my throne. I'd rather give my heart and name to someone twice my age, whom I care for and trust with my life, than bed a stranger and bear their alien children for the sake of the empire." _

"_Emily..."_

"_I'm not asking you to marry me, Corvo," she strained, fidgeting with the buttons on my vest, "I'm asking you to make me a woman. It's Fugue Fest, after all! Mothers can rightfully smother their children, friends can steal each other's possessions, and neighbors can sleep with their neighbor's coveted wife. Murder, theft, adultery-all is forgiven on this day, new year's eve, so why can I not do something completely legal with the man whom I love?"_

"_It just doesn't feel right." Was that the best excuse I could come up with? That it didn't "feel right"? She certainly had some charisma, for I was reluctantly beginning to rethink my reasons for pushing her away. She was amazingly beautiful, though that could have been the alcohol talking, and though I didn't want to __see her faith in me waver, she made it seem as if the only way I could safeguard her innocence was to take it for myself. _

_Why __was__ I so hesitant? Jessamine was gone; Emily had made that perfectly clear. Was I afraid of betraying her mother's trust? I had watched Emily grow since she was an infant, but that would only cause my love for her to be pure, unlike the greedy, power-hungry suitors I'd just as easily give her to. Was it because of my age? She was so young and full of life, hardly corrupted by the vileness of man, and that alone was so refreshing. Perhaps it was because of the rumor I had started all those years ago. If I gave into her desire, how would I defend myself against allegations of slander, or even worse, incest? Though the rumor's usefulness had faded ever since Emily's birthday in the spring (when she had become of age to rightfully rule) I didn't want the Trinci's to feel swindled out of their fair share of the power and threaten to secede off of my lie. What about it was so wrong? I cared for her so much, as if she was my own, but she wasn't, and I needed to face that fact. There was no blood-tie to deter my hand, and yet it felt as if my heart was lusting for my own flesh._

_She wrapped her arms around my neck, her fingers entwining themselves in my thick locks, and stared at me with those luscious brown orbs, "Corvo, if you share feelings towards me in the slightest, I __beg__ of you. I know you're the only one for me. I just wish you'd see it too."_

_I felt my heart drop into my stomach. I didn't have another excuse and I had wasted my energy trying to combat her stubbornness. I was the only person she had left and I didn't want to make her feel even more unwanted. Maybe I was the only one for her and just refused to acknowledge her valid points for fear of dishonoring my creed of loyalty. However, if I was truly to be loyal, then wouldn't I be obligated to indulge my Lady's yearnings? It was all so confusing, and the bump my head I had received upon meeting the wall wasn't helping me think clearly._

"_Emily, I—" _

_Before I could finish my last ditch effort, the young monarch had forced herself against my lips once more, except this time I didn't pull away. I knew it was wrong; I was so much older than her and her guardian, but she tasted so sweet and my body longed for a woman's touch. I grasped onto her waist with one hand and seized the back of her neck with the other, deepening the passionate exchange. Her hair was so soft, like silk, and it smelt of strawberries, teasing my senses. Our tongues battled each other's as if it was a sparring session, and the tart tang of wine tingled my taste buds. I could tell she was having trouble keeping up with my passion, which only excited me more. Her inexperience, her innocence, it electrified my senses, making me feel much younger than my 36 years. However, her grunts and constant sighs broke the flowing rhythm of our embrace, as her petite stature forced her to unsteadily balance on her tip toes to meet my lips. I wasn't about to allow a few inches of height difference to ruin our moment of euphoria and my eyes scoured the area for a quick solution. The table! Certainly it wasn't that comfortable, but it would serve to temporarily alleviate her struggles. I hunched my back and continued to explore the caverns of her mouth, lapping up every morsel of sugary syrup that dared to linger on her tongue, and began to carefully tread towards my sighted destination. _

_ A soft and adorably cute yelp escaped her throat as her rear bumped the edge of the maple wood, and I tenderly grasped onto her filled hips and hoisted her onto the table's edge. Now that she wouldn't have to strain, our rhythm quickly regained its momentum. It was as if we were making music with our kiss. Every gasp for air was an accentuated sforzando, our heavy sighs were the decrescendo; it was masterful symphony, and yet I knew this was only the first movement. Was she ready to move to the second? My body needed no extra stimulus, but I didn't want to startle to her with my lusting eagerness. She was so delicate and fragile (or at least that's how I perceived her) and I was frightened I'd accidentally break her with my spontaneity. I had never actually been with a virgin before. In fact, the only women I had taken after swearing my oath of Protector were loose harlots and random servant girls I could sneak away from their duties for short periods of time to alleviate my urges. Needless to say, a true romantic interaction was long overdue. _

_ I broke away from her lips to begin trailing down her neck, maneuvering under her shirt's high collar to suckle the tender flesh. I felt my trousers tighten as the ecstasy clouded my thoughts, which rendered it nearly impossible to concentrate on any thoughts beyond indulging my torrid cravings. My fingers skirted along the edges of my Lady's blouse, and slowly they crept up and grasped onto her jacket's clasp. Carefully, I unfastened her outermost garment and slid it off her shoulders, earning a rewarding sigh. Emily constricted her legs around my waist and pulled me closer and my bulge happily prodded into her stomach. Her boots! They had to come off next. I needed to feel her tiny toes arch in the crevice of my spine. I pulled them off and casted them to the side. Emily was such a quick learner, for as her shoes landed crudely behind us and I moved to delve back onto her sweet lips, she stopped mine with her fingers and whispered sexily in my ear, "Meet me in the bedroom." My figure melted as her hot breath tickled my earlobe, and I watched her sensually stride to her room, looking flirtatiously over her shoulder as the door closed between us. _

_Damnit! Why did she have to break away? Without Emily's intoxicating touch to suppress my wandering thoughts, my guilt began to pile back on, and I found myself once again second guessing my actions. I knew once I stepped foot into that bedroom all my inhibitions would disappear and I'd give into her every desire, molded like clay in an artist's hands. Was I taking advantage of her inebriated state? No, she wasn't drunk, perhaps slightly tipsy to the point of giggly glee, but she knew exactly what she was doing, and so did I. Could I really break my oath and bed my charge? Sure, practically everyone in the Isles thought I already had, but could I do it for real? Oh to the Void with it all! An attractive young woman wanted me and here I was, arguing semantics with myself. Taking a deep breath, I stripped down until I was just in my knee-length drawers and grey button-up shirt. I then filled myself with confidence and proceeded into the room. _

_All the lights were off except for a pale blue whale-oil lamp glowing softly beside the bed, and the illuminating glow from the dining room flooded the small area. The light must have produced a golden halo around my form, for at my appearance Emily gasped and gawked, as if she had laid eyes upon some god-like entity. She had also stripped down to her skivvies, though her apparel was much more tantalizing than mine. A white, lacy chemise was slipping slightly off her shoulders and short little bloomers puffed out from her hips. Lacy garters held up her ivory stockings and she had taken her hair down from its large pin curls. Thankfully, she had also already taken off her whale-bone corset, for I didn't know how to even begin to remove one of those horrid contraptions. As if I were under a spell I crawled onto the bed, jaw half dropped and cheeks a rosy red from the sheer amount of her skin being revealed. _

"_It's my turn," she hummed, grasping onto the collar of my shirt and beginning to undo its buttons. If I wasn't so enthralled in her fervor, my insecurity about my appearance may have arisen as she slid off the thick cloth. She pushed me down and climbed onto my bare stomach, pinning down my wrists. This was her first time, right? Her natural dominance surprised me, and as her lips trailed my stomach, her luscious juices began seeping through her thin garment._

"_Where did you—"_

"—_learn this?" she cut off, her tongue tickling my navel, "I've read many books that told me ways to please a man."_

_She read books about these things? What was she doing, studying for this night? "Books? What kind of books?"_

"_Plays, actually. __The Young Prince of Tyvia__, __Daughter of Tyvia__…" Erotic plays! How did she manage to get her hands on those? I'd never had imagined her the type to crawl under her covers and fill her fantasies with the tales of Prince Kallisarr. And it was actually shockingly arousing to know she had a salacious side. As she moved back up my chest, my gaze lingered down her thin ensemble till I could spot her voluptuous breasts and schemes began to form as I thought of ways I might free them from their tantalizing prison. _

"_Your literature tutor allows you to read thoooo—"my words trailed off into a moan as she tenderly nipped on my neck. Lecherous angel! She had found my secret spot, that sensitive patch of skin just under my ear that made my toes curl and eyes roll back. How had she found it so quickly? Even the most experienced woman took a while to find mine. I really needed to read these books. _

"_What she doesn't know won't hurt her. And it will certainly benefit you," her breath tickled my skin and her skinny fingers traced the inside of my thigh. It was breath-taking to see a woman so eager for intimacy, especially one of such class. Of course, she didn't have a mother to teach her proper bedroom etiquette and Emily never listened to her matchmaker's advice. That only left me, and who was I to thwart her lascivious yearnings? As she massaged the inside of my groin, her hand accidentally bumped into my erection, and her face turned an eerie purple hue, compliments from the blue whale oil lamp. Despite all the sensual foreplay her books had foretold, she had not a clue of what to do when it came to conquering that feat, and a smirk involuntarily twisted my façade. Her true innocence was beginning to show, and that excited me much more than her previous promiscuity. It was my turn once more, to begin the third and final movement of our licentious symphony._

_ I grabbed her firm rear and flipped over so that I was on top. Feverishly, I pulled her chemise over her head, releasing her plump bosom from its hiding place. Her mounds cheerfully bounced as they greeted me and before Emily could shy away and cover herself, I hungrily latched onto them. They fit perfectly in my grasp, as if custom tailored for my hands alone. I eagerly toyed with her nipples until they grew hard, receiving adorable gasps and soft moans for my efforts. It was amazing how sensitive flesh could be, and as I nipped on her breast lightly with my teeth, her back arched in ecstasy. Her body was moist, eager for my touch, and I was ready to indulge her cravings. My callused fingers skirted on the edge of her bloomers before coyly slipping inside and Emily's mouth fell open as I began to massage her flower's bud. Her slick and sensual juices flooded her garment as I carefully slipped one of my digits inside her. My heart fluttered as she hummed my name, and once I knew she was ready, I pushed in a second. She yelped painfully, though it was to be expected, and my lips traced her navel, earning another pleasant arch. My emotions whirled as a gale storm from her passionate cries. She was so lovely in her lusting state, her countenance as refreshing as spring rain and body burning as hot as star fire. _

_"My books never told of such wondrous pleasure! Oh Corvo, teach me! Teach me everything!" she moaned, and I was more than happy to espouse her desire._

_I stripped my drawers and kicked them to the side, and Emily flushed as she gazed upon my alert affair. I then slid off her bloomers and spread her quivering thighs. I was about to deflower her, no, that word was far too harsh for the pleasure we were both about to experience. I was allowing her to blossom! And who better to help her ripen than her loyal guardian? Slowly I pushed into her warmth and could hear Emily's muffled cries of pain, though she gazed into my eyes with a most encouraging look. Her tight sheath contracted around my member, and the pleasure begged me to quicken my pace, but her spasms of pain that contorted her beautiful face restrained my ardor. It was only after a few more gentle thrusts that her virgin pains began to subside, and her body soon trembled under mine with torrid desire. Our carnal pleasure enticed us into a voluptuous delirium, and she begged me to fill her more vigorously, though I knew her body could not withstand my full passion. Her inner charms clung so desperately to my foreskin, aiding my rhythm. I dove back onto her lips, licking them furiously and exploring the caverns of mouth. Our moans were our symphonies' melody, my delicious thrusts the harmony. Faster, harder, the final movement was reaching its apex. _

_Her cries turned to lecherous screams, and for a moment I thought to quiet her ravings for fear a wandering guard outside would hear. Oh let them hear! Let them listen upon our beautiful music and be crushed in jealousy! "Corvo!" she screeched, her body convulsing as her locus flooded with luscious spendings. The pressure was building inside and a look horror soon captivated my face as I realized my fatal error. I didn't know where to release. I had forgotten my handkerchief and certainly could not let loose inside her for obvious reasons. And yet through her euphoric delirium, Emily did something absolutely awe-astounding. As I pulled out of her body, she brought her lips over my tip and ran her tongue under my shaft. My body lurched forward as the wave of ecstasy came over me, and my seed burst into her anticipating mouth. _

_We both flung back onto the bed, our breaths uneven from our exerted emotions. Emily slipped into that blissful womanly coma, and I wiped off a drop of my fluids that dared to linger on her chin with a weary laugh. It was only after my euphoria subsided that I realized the full depth of my situation. I had just taken my charge; tarnished her innocence, and ravaged her maidenhood for my own selfish desires. Of course she loved every moment of it, but that didn't change the fact that it was wrong, and that I gave into her demands when I should have stood strong. Of course, this was only a one-time engagement, right? Surely she wouldn't expect this of me again, so her innocence would remain somewhat intact. There was simply a hole deep inside her soul in which she thought I could fill, and now that she had gotten her wish, that hole would surely close up. Or at least, that's what I outwardly hoped for. Deep down, I longed for her touch again, but it simply could not be. There would be no way for such feelings to go unseen amongst the nosy servants and Emily would have to understand the gravity of her yearnings. _

_"I love you," she whispered with her last bit of energy, though I did not reply. I couldn't bring myself to speak the words outright, despite how deeply I may have felt. I certainly cared for her to such an extent that I would willfully lay down my life in an instant and that feeling was not secular to her title. But I was too old for new love, and she too young, yet those words would not heed our eventual desires. This was the moment when our relationship truly extended beyond that of a protector and my charge, and thus began our complex relationship built on a firm foundation of secrecy and desire._

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_**Smutty smut smutters? Yeah, so this was EXTEREMLY challenging to write, especially since I'm a woman writing smut from a male's perspective in first person. I apologize to all my guy readers if I got anything wrong, such as thought processes during the heated moment—I did the best I could do. **_

_**So, I realized that because my flashbacks tend to flow unevenly with time, some of the actual background of the time period in which they happen can get confusing. So here's a little summary of every flashback that's happened so far, in **__**chronological**__** order:**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 7: Emily was 13 and discovered Corvo's powers. She begins to develop a crush on him at this time. Pre-relationship.**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 10: Emily was 14 and discovered Corvo's scars and secretly expresses her growing feelings through her present. Pre-relationship.**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 11: Emily was 16 and began her intimate relationship with Corvo.**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 2: Emily is 17. Day that Corvo recuses himself part 1/3. Current relationship.**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 3: Emily is 17. Day that Corvo recuses himself part 2/3. Current relationship.**_

_**Flashback in Chapter 4: Emily is 17. Day that Corvo recuses himself part 3/3. Current relationship.**_

_**Emily is currently 17 yrs old. Corvo is 37. I hope that explains it. REVIEW! XD**_


	12. An Unexpected Visit

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Twelve — An Unexpected Visit**

Corvo's eyes fluttered open as a warm wave of water tickled his neck. How long had he been asleep? Though his dreams had been unusually pleasant, it was mildly unnerving to him that he had dozed off in the bathtub. It couldn't have been helped though, the water was so warm and the space luxurious, more so than any bath he had experienced in Dunwall. Even at the Golden Cat (which was publicly called as a bath house) the tubs were smaller than the miniature pool he was relaxing it now. That accompanied with pleasurably sensual memories he had just reminisced upon was beginning to make for a truly relaxing night. Sure, his brother's heinous outburst and the unconventional method of transportation he had used to get there had caused for some initial frustration, but now he finally had a chance to unwind and let his mind wander.

It seemed so absurd now that he had thought his night with Emily to be a one-time affair. He should have known how stubborn the girl was and taken her latent feelings towards him more seriously. After all, Jessamine had bore a child younger than the empress was now, but that was with a man her own age. Corvo and Emily had been…courting, if that was what one would call it, for nearly a year and still he had yet to speak the dreaded phrase. Love was such a strong word, how could he bring himself to speak it if even he didn't understand its full gravity? The bittersweet grasp of romance was too complex to boil down into three simple words, and tended to roll off the tongues of star-struck youngsters far too easily. Even Emily threw around the expression now and again, though at least her tone made the sentiment sound less daunting. Was that it? Fear? Was he afraid to open his heart to even the most deserving? Let the city be plagued with rats and ravaged with corruption and his voice would not shake, and yet throw that damnable emotion into the fray and watch as he retreated under a fog of hesitance and doubt.

"I could write my next chapter on that," Corvo muttered to himself, leaning his head back against the stone edge. Steam brushed against his pores and opened his senses as he inhaled deeply. Despite him taking a small nap, the tub was still remarkably warm and it even strangely seemed as if water level had risen slightly, though he had not touched the bass-tailed faucet.

"You're writing a book? Strong _and_ smart; I like that in my men," a voice sensual hummed, making Corvo bolt upright and scour the area for the culprit. Through the dense steam, Drusus' wife, Camille, suddenly materialized, nude and half-submerged the bath before him. Her thick red locks scarcely concealed her plump breasts and her luscious ruby lips pursed as she saw the shock stretched across her guest's face, "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you. You clean up rather nice, without all that chicken shit soiling your appearance," she smirked.

What was _she_ doing there? What in her right mind would give her the gall to hop in while he was still in there? Couldn't she see that he was bathing? The lord's body flooded with embarrassment as he sunk further into the water in a desperate attempt to conceal himself, and he quickly turned his face so he could not accidentally stare upon the woman's large bosom…again. Even though Serkonos was renowned for their romantic air, group baths with strangers was passing a clear line and certainly a Morley lady would have more modesty than this.

"Uh, th-thank you," he stuttered, attempting to maintain a respectful atmosphere in this most uncomfortable situation, "Forgive me for asking, but why are you here?"

Camille awkwardly chuckled, which was the first remotely happy expression she had given all night. Earlier he had presumed she conducted herself in a severe and almost haughty manner, though now it seemed as if this proposed personality was completely off, "Well this is my house, silly," she giggled, floating closer to the cowering nobleman.

"Yes, of course, but why are you _here_?" he stressed and squirmed farther along the edge of the tub.

She quickly caught up and her fingers lightly brushed against his thigh, making the thick muscle tense up and he inched away yet again, "Well it's been a while since there's been such a powerful and handsome man in this household. You're a celebrity, Corvo Attano, and I plan to make the most of your esteemed visit."

Corvo's eyes widened and his throat closed up as his mind clouded in disbelief. What was it with women suddenly throwing themselves onto him? Couldn't they ever act dignified and restrain their female desires? It seemed as though the only woman he had ever hoped to pursue had pushed him aside under the pretext of friendship, and into a sea of ravenous, lusty harlots. This is not to say it was entirely bad, for their longing attention often worked in his favor and Emily had emerged from those depths as a diamond in the ruff to steal away his heart. But this was his brother's wife for the Outsider's sake! One would think such a posh lady would keep faithful the bonds of marriage, and yet in the Attano name this sacrament seemed to be nothing more than a pricy piece of paper.

"I apologize, but I'm sort of taken, and I wouldn't want to break my brother's trust," he began to reason, reluctantly feeling his gaze begin to linger towards her chest. He couldn't help it! They were right there, and such exquisite specimens. Camille was a stunning sight to behold, but not nearly in the same way as his darling little Emily. While the Morley woman dripped with sexuality, biting her lip playfully as her emerald orbs reflected her fiery mane, his empress' beauty was radiated within her innocence, concealed behind rosy cheeks and a heart-warming smile. It was completely different, yet both were attractive in their own right. However, not for an instant did Corvo actually imagine himself giving into this woman's desires. No, this was not his empress, and he was far too loyal to even consider such treachery, even while in a distant country. That didn't mean he couldn't look though.

"Nonsense. It's not as if I expect for us to be intimate. What do you take me for, a trollop?" she scoffed as her other hand began to caress his pounding chest, "No, there are other ways in which we can indulge our cravings without it being considered unfaithful." Her hot breath fluttered against his ear, and he bit his cheek to advert the pleasure he would normally receive from the act.

His breath began to draw unevenly as he foraged his blood-starved brain for the right words to strongly dissuade her persistence. He didn't want to seem rude, but if this woman didn't get off him soon, he would have to pry her off forcefully. Suddenly, a woman's distance shriek echoed throughout the manor, effectively distracting Camille from her unwanted advances. This was his chance. As her gaze wandered towards the direction of the sound, Corvo leapt from tub and covered himself with the nearest towel, careening for his clothes. However, they weren't where he left them. In fact, they weren't there at all. Where was his shirt or pants? His shoes or vest? Had a servant snatched up his soiled garments while he slumbered? The only items that remained were his weapon's belt and Emily's brooch, and where he laid his frock coat a dark blue robe was neatly folded in its place with some slippers set on top. That would have to suffice—anything to get him out of this nerve-wracking situation as quickly as possible.

"I should go check on that," he stammered as he fumbled with the robe's sash. Stuffing the stone trinket into a pocket and grabbing onto his belt, he lurched out of the room. As the door slammed behind him, a heavy sigh whisked away some dripping locks dangling before his heavy eyes and a sense of overwhelming relief quickly enveloped his near indecent form. One day. All he wished for was one day without strife, and yet fate would spit in his face and call him an ass before granting him release from the trials of this hectic world. The high-pitched shriek resonated once more, diverting Corvo's attention to the second floor. It seemed as if the sound was coming from the East Wing, where his guest bedroom was supposedly located. Curious, what could instill such fear such a servant's heart that she must cry out in terror for aid? He clutched onto his folded sword and pranced up the grand stairway, duty-bound to help wherever trouble called.

Despite the time of day, the hallway was amazing well-lit through the immense amount windows opening the space and allowing for moonlight to bounce off the stucco walls. Ivy covered balconies expanded the view, and an enclosed rotunda provided for a small lounge area under floor-length decorated windows. Wherever the glass was interrupted with wall, a photograph would grace the sliver of a panel, telling a story the farther the manor's guest tread. The first was a harshly contrasting black and white print, from when photography was still fairly new and wildly popular in the Isles. It was a family photo of the Attano family when Drusus was just a child, along with his six siblings at the time, which included Corvo. There were only four boys then, as their father was just on his second wife, and each were dressed in matching sack coats and knickers with long white stockings and black buckled shoes. The two sisters were off to either side, their faces obscured by flowery bonnets, and in the back was Father Attano, arms crossed in a proud display of his children and a mighty sword glistening at his hip.

As the robed man continued down the hall, each new family photo grew clearer as the photographic process evolved, the children grew older, and the family larger. Soon there were eight, ten, twelve children all huddled into their villa's courtyard with ages varying from infant to adult. The two eldest, Corvo's blood brothers, had recently enlisted in the King's army and stood beside their father, dressed in their military uniforms with shining metals of achievement and valor pinned brazenly across their chests. Just under them was Corvo, the third child, who had recently turned sixteen, and a smug expression captivated his devilishly handsome façade. He remember the day of the picture, and how not even a month afterwards he was shipped off to Gristol as a diplomatic candidate for the title of Royal Protector. _"This is a great honor for our family, Corvo. History will remember the Attano name by the actions you take from here on. Remember this weight and let it guide your hand always,"_ his father's words hummed in his mind as he solemnly gazed upon the silver print. Drusus was near the front, standing just behind the three to five year-olds, and only about a head higher than them. That's how it always was with their family photos. No matter how old they all grew, Drusus' spot in the picture never changed.

That was the last family photo depicted on his brother's wall, for soon after Corvo left Serkonos, Drusus left their villa in pursuit of his own path. From then on the photographs were of him alone, save for one at the very end. His prosperous business, Tully Exports (in which he used his mother's maiden name to save their father the embarrassment of having his sons' sheepish career path tarnish the family's reputation) was among the largest print in the hallway. It featured the noble-born dwarf standing proudly onto of a cargo box as if to boast all of his accomplishments to his father's invisible eye. The last picture was clearly taken on their wedding day, as Camille was in the foreground wearing a very modest gown and an innocent smile graced her rosy cheeks. It was amazing how time and place affect one's values, as a seamlessly refined maiden given years in a foreign land will adopt its customs, and add to them with their own natural flare, no matter how distasteful she may become.

Though his memories had lasted only a mere moment, seeing Camille in the photo quickly reminded Corvo of his goal and he hastily scuttled down the hallway, searching for the cause of the woman's scream. As he wandered upon a cracked door, the grip on his blade tightened, and he hesitantly pushed against the wood with his marked hand. For the terror that had wracked the female's voice, the sight before him as the door swung ajar was fairly harmless. The fat, old, servant lady who had taken his belongings stood skittishly on a chair, her bulbous face contorted in a disgusting grimace, "Rat!" her scratchy voice screamed as she pointed at the ground and danced on her toes in fright. A rat? That had been the cause of her panic? An almost disappointed sigh escaped the ex-Lord Protector's lips as he wearily searched the ground for the intruder. Emily would have simply squashed the pest, instead of scurrying up a chair like a terrified child. Of course, growing up while being called the Rat Queen tended to foster some hatred towards the plague-bearing rodents. Perhaps a swarm would have induced panic, for a horde could strip a man to the bone in less than a minute, but certainly not a single rat.

Like lightning, a flash of white bolted under his feet and out the door, and a taunting squeak followed its tiny form. "Kill it! Kill it!" the hag screeched, though Corvo was momentarily frozen as a look of bewilderment captured his expression. That was the same white rat that had constantly annoyed him onboard the _Albatross_. How had it managed to follow him all the way here? Did it hide in his pack and dart out when the servant woman had begun to unpack his few personal items? No matter the reason, it did need to be caught. For that particular rat came from Gristol, and even if it was friendly, the mere thought of it carrying the plague and spreading it throughout Serkonos was a terrifying reality he had to consider. He spun around and began to sprint towards the direction the mouse had trailed off to, his hand outstretched and ready to posses the fugitive. Possession would be the easiest way to dispose of this pest problem. Trying to slash at it with his sword would only cause unnecessary damage and once he felt the warmth of the creature's soul within his grasp and delved into its mind, he could simply erupt from its body and kill it instantly.

Black smoke smoldered from his palm and his mark burned its eerie green tint. His eyes morphed a golden hue to aid his search as he spotted the glowing rodent trying desperately to squeeze behind a flower vase on a corner wall. A shadowy mist began to form around the creature's body as Corvo locked onto his target, however right before the ancient words could echo in his mind the rat managed to force itself into the shallow gap to obstruct his possession. Agitated, he lightly cursed under his breath and turned down the adjacent hallway to cut off the dastardly fiend. But as he rounded the corner, a strange man abruptly came into view. Instinctively, Corvo's eyes snapped back to their dull norm and he shoved his hands into the robe's deep pockets to allow his mark to cool down to its dormant state. The stranger was deathly pale, with sickly sunken features and eyes empty as the abysmal sea. He dressed in what looked like a whaler's outfit, which was oddly out of place with the scenery, wearing a thick leather coat and denim trousers tucked into slim, black, rubber boots. Slowly, the figure knelt on one knee and extended his hand leisurely onto the ground, to which the white rat poked its head from its hiding spot and scurried into. A whimsical grin twisted the man's bony features as he stood and clenched his hand into a fist, and the rodent crumbled into ashes. Corvo scowled at the Outsider as the he cockily cross his arms over his chest, hovering mere inches above the ground. Every time the deity chose to appear before his favorite follower he always had something sarcastic to say, and his disciple was far too tired to properly appease these long-winded antics.

"Corvo," the trickster god hummed, a small smirk creeping on the edge of his pale lips, "For a while I was worried that you'd become uninteresting to observe as you reclaimed your old, boring routine as Royal Protector. I pondered if the intrigue of your masked vengeance would sour with loathsome politics and menial childcare, and if my gift would become nothing more to you than a tool to aid your subservient lifestyle, wasting away under the shadow of order. Yet, you never cease to _fascinate_ me.

What a good teacher you were, standing by Emily's side on her worst of days when others would have sunk into shallow alcoves to elude her malice. You provided what tutors and chambermaids could not, a connection rarely seen outside of blood, and one that the young empress could latch onto and wilt under the weight of her crumbling capital. Oh to bask in the irony of it all. Half the world mutters tales of your legendary indecency, when the unknown truth is so much sweeter than the lie. Yes, you were _such_ a good teacher, Corvo, instructing little Emily into womanhood. And yet here you stand, hundreds of miles away from your empress, one whom you once went through desperate lengths to reach. Why is that?"

This was why the Outsider had suddenly decided to "grace" him with his presence—to mock his continuous failures and remind him of the terrible choice he had made? Corvo felt his eye beginning to reluctantly twitch and he clamped his jaw to attempt to fight the outburst he knew was coming. It didn't help. "It's because of you that I'm here! If it wasn't for your "gift" I would still be in Dunwall, and be at her side!" He roared, his knuckles whitening deep within his pockets. Of course, he knew his words were false. Without the enigmatic entity's aid, achieving his revenge and placing Emily back on the throne would have been near impossible, but that didn't stop him from taking out his frustration on the one being he knew wouldn't get angry, or retaliate against his cries.

For all of Corvo's frenzied temper didn't seem to affect the Outsider, and in fact it might have even pleased him. Mortals were so interesting with their array of emotions. It was like observing a never-ending theatrical production, only with the power to play with the marionette strings. Though the god's smirk did fade, it was not because he was displeased with his chosen's rage. It was actually refreshing that the human was so daring, a nice change from the mindless cult that typically prayed at his shrines. "Did you not think I knew this day would come? Was it not you who wrote how I 'see through the folds of time'? You had many choices, Corvo, choices that led you down this path. It was not I who brought tale of your mark to the Abbey's doorstep, or who abstained from slicing your accuser's throat. Just when I think the depravity of the world will push you over the edge, you retain your anger and stay your hand when others would have leapt at the chance to strike.

What will you do now, I wonder? How long will you wait for that perfect moment to enact your vengeance? Or will you break the promise Emily's heart hangs on and leisure away the rest of your days under the warmth of the Serkonan sun? Either way, I look forward to seeing what you do. Don't disappoint me."

Before Corvo could respond again, the Outsider dissipated back into the Void, leaving him alone in the empty hallway. He should have stayed in Dunwall and killed Parrish when he had the chance. All it would have taken was a quick slash of his sword and all of his problems would have blown away with his ashes in the wind. But no, he had to choose the route of least damage, the noble way, and make life much more complicated as he attempted to preserve what little faith the people of Dunwall still held in their young empress. Was that the only reason he had opted to leave so easily? After his failure to save Jessamine, something inside him had broke, and for the past years he had been trying so desperately to replace his shame with unwavering vigilance and midnight trysts. Perhaps he was the one with the aching hole in his soul, and not Emily. In truth, he was growing so tired of this game of thrones, and the Outsider's words sounded so tempting. What was stopping him from building a little shack on the Serkonan coast and living as a hermit away from society? He could grow an olive grove or take up fishing as he had as a child.

His fingers traced the cold edges of his brooch deep within his pocket. He couldn't just leave his empress to the pit of vipers he knew would eventually prey on the court in his absence and allow their venom to poison her words, or could he? With time, Emily would move on and appoint a new Royal Protector, but certainly he couldn't depend on a stranger to do his duty. He had already failed one empress, and let the whales be hunted to extinction and world consequentially collapse into the Void before he allowed another to fall in his arms. Was this was love was—a feeling of incontestable conviction and loyalty? Whatever the sensation, it blazed his heart, burning out the doubt placed by the Outsider's whispers. Soon, the turmoil fueling the mad priest would smolder down to a dull roar and that was when Corvo would raze through their precious Abbey like a wildfire, and watch it crumble from within.

"I really need some clothes."

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_**YES! My winter break finally begins! :) I actually don't have much to say about this chapter other than it was about time the Outsider showed his awesome face and Camille is a coin-grabbing whore. Review? Please?**_


	13. The Rudshore Restoration Project

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Thirteen — The Rudshore Restoration Project**

"_Chapter 5, page 46:_

_The Rudshore Financial District, now referred to commonly as the Flooded District, is among the oldest and more historical sectors in the city of Dunwall. In its prime, it was rivaled as being the most prosperous area to own a small business and housed the Chamber of Commerce and the ruthless Greaves Whale House. During the last few months of Empress Jessamine's reign, the flood barrier which had once saved it from the wrath of the turbulent Wrenhaven River finally broke and with its collapse spurred a breeding ground for rats, river krusts, and rumors. Accusations of blame began to pour in with the water and everyone wished to believe that the floodgate had been victim to sabotage. In truth, the fault laid entirely with the city as maintenance in that particular area had been lax for over a decade and once one leak sprung the entire foundation immediately crumbled. Though this event was marked as a tragedy, the plague was already so deep-seated in Dunwall when the barrier fell that everyone outside the district and within the Royal Court were far too preoccupied with eradicating the daily riots and throngs of Weepers preying the streets to care about any rebuilding efforts._

_However, that was seven years ago. Today, the district is showing modest improvement due to Empress Emily's Rudshore Restoration Project, and already a few hundred citizens whose family members and homes were taken by the plague have found solace in one of the completely refurbished apartment complexes on Northern Thresh Street. Despite the majority of the population being warily divided on this elaborate venture, promises of affordable housing for the worker's families, free health care, and good pay lured the masses away from their fears of the ever-present Weepers to make up the labor force slowly rebuilding the city. Already the flood barrier has been repaired and the water level has emptied from Thresh Street to Central Rudshore, despite the latter sector being completely off limits. To protect the laborers from the few unaccounted for Weepers, thongs of rats and river krusts, and the unsavory deviants that lingered around the old Chamber of Commerce, a large movable partition was erected to allow them security as they worked. With each newly cleared street the wall was moved back, though now it seems to be stuck too close to the Whaler's shanty town to allow any comfort. And though it has been a long time since I had dealt with the assassin Daud and his sinister cult, whispers of a new ringleader always emerge from the shadows. _

_Following Lord Banister's regency, Emily was desperate to insert herself in the forefront of Parliament and take back those years she had sat in near silence. For months she schemed of how to accomplish this goal and win back the people's hearts. She had already successfully commissioned a cure for the Rat Plague, though the aristocracy mistakenly gave most of the credit to Banister, and John Clavering Blvd and the surrounding Distillery District had almost been completely repaired. Even Bitterleaf Almshouse was reopened, taking in a surplus of orphans and homeless from the plague destruction, and Kaldwin's Bridge was finally accessible to the public. It seemed the last feat that everyone had either completely forgotten or pushed to the back of their minds was the Flooded District, and Emily was eager to take on this challenge. Such a venture had not been assumed since the erection of her grandfather's bridge, and just the thought of accomplishing this task would surely make Empress Emily a name to remember for years to come and mark the beginning of her "golden era" that she so desperately desired. _

_However, nothing in this world is free, not even freedom itself, and while her project was purposeful and good-natured, it lacked support from the city's wealthy for multiple reasons. For one, the Rudshore Financial District was once the center not only for prosperous business owners, but the lesser nobility who lived in lavish apartments along Dunwall's coastline. Emily's restoration endeavor had no place for the elite who had lost their secondary condos and instead looked towards the more impoverished masses to give these once-extravagant complexes to for a fraction of the price. Despite their long disuse and decay, the aristocracy felt as if she was removing part of their previous territory in favor of shady dockworkers and other members of the menial proletariat class. Never mind that it was those people that made up the majority of the city's populace, for as long as they gained nothing physical for the exchange of their coin, they would not dip deep into the pockets for their young empress' dreams. Because of this, Emily had a difficult time gathering the financial and political support she needed to begin making her fantasies reality, and in fact, the only persons she felt she could truly rely on to subjugate an almost certain unanimous decision against her decree were Haddon Mercer and Lucius Banister. _

_Lucius Banister was practically a buzz name all throughout the nobility. Eight years ago he appeared out of nowhere, with no family ties or old money to substantiate the position he quickly gained within Parliament. It was as if he materialized from thin air and through his immense charisma and spectacular oratory skills he won over the older, more prudent members so thoroughly that they made him regent just a year later. No one truly knows his full story, what his heritage is and how he gained his wealth, nor do they seem to care, for he was the embodiment of Parliament itself, not their empress, and they all waited for __his__ words before making their decision on anything. That said, I hate him. For too many times did he draw the aristocracy's ears away from my Lady's voice, and if it wasn't for Emily constantly begging me to restrain my anger towards the manipulative prick, I would have found some way to neutralize his power long ago. And yet she saw him as an opportunity, despite her distaste for his arrogant demeanor, for if she could persuade Banister to back her project then she would have the only vote she needed. Then all that was left was the financial support."_

Corvo set down his pen, laced together his fingers, and bent them back, listening to the relaxingly morbid cracking sound caused by an intense writing session. After his unexpected visit, he had retreated back the guestroom to find the servant woman and inform her that her phobia had now departed, only to find the chamber empty. Though he had not cared too much about her menial terrors to track her down, and settled on changing into his long nightshirt and beginning another chapter. As he wrote, he had strayed away from the topic of love that he had originally intended on conversing about and continued to appear as the simply stoic bodyguard, despite how biased this perspective might have been. All books are biased, based on the principles of their authors and what they chose to divulge upon their readers. Even sacred and legislative texts subjected their followers to prejudiced sayings under the guise of order. A knock on the door distracted these thoughts as he turned his attention towards the sound, fearing that it was the old hag come to inquire about her rodent problem. However, as he answered the call, a low groan reluctantly whined from his throat and he felt another stress-induced headache coming on.

"You left me in that bath all alone; how naughty. What if a burglar swept in to ravage me? I certainly hope you treated your empress with more diligence," Camille teased as she leisurely brushed against his shoulder and strolled into the room. It had been a few hours since their run in the washroom, giving enough time for the head of the household to turn in for the night and his promiscuous wife to sneak from her chambers dressed in a piece of fabric scarcely thick enough to be considered apparel, "Drusus is asleep. He snores like a pig. Outsider knows, he looks like one," she scoffed as grabbed onto the collar of his nightshirt.

Aggravated, Corvo latched onto her wrists to prevent her from unbuttoning past his collar, "You shouldn't say ill things about my brother, Camille. Especially not if you're trying to woo me over."

And yet his remark and resistance only seemed to please her further, a small laugh echoing throughout the room, "Trying? No, no, no. I get what I desire, when I desire it. It's that simple, really," she sincerely snipped, wriggling her wrists out of her guest's grasp.

"Then you're going to be sadly disappointed."

"I think not. I always thought the chase was the best part, but I can see you're becoming far too resilient. So here is how it's going to be. You either drop your pants or I'll tell my dear husband how you cornered little ole' me and tore my blouse in some drunken lunacy, and how frightened I am to have an assassin looming over our bedroom," false fear dripped from her words as her lower lip bulged outward in a pout, and an innocent glint snuffed out the fire of lust from her eye.

Threats? Was this how she was going to operate? If Corvo hadn't been so tired of this woman's pushy advances he might have laughed at her gall, but exhaustion pulled at his sanity, begging him to be far more forceful than before. As her hand reached to cup his groin, he snatched up her wrist once more, though this time tight enough so that she could not shirk away, "You may not know this about me," he seethed, constricting his grip and glaring down at her coldly, "but I do not like being threatened. I have done _terrible_ things in my line of work. Terrible things to powerful, beautiful women who stumbled too far past the edge of lust and treachery. Things that would haunt your precious dreams. So I strongly suggest you take your threats and go back to your room before that 'assassin' you're so worried about decides to stalk you from the shadows."

Silence passed for what seemed like minutes before Camille's snarky smile broke the tense atmosphere, "I married the wrong Attano," was all she said as turned and left the room, shooting a careful gaze over her shoulder and disappearing down the hall. A tired and grateful sigh escaped Corvo's lips as he watched the woman retreat from his chambers. He closed his door and locked it behind him. Did he scare her away? Probably not, but he had been assertive enough for her to know that he stood by what he had said earlier. He was loyal, to his brother and his empress, and he wouldn't allow the sin of Wanton Flesh to further corrupt his already sacrilegious repute. With the libidinous women successfully banished from his room, the noble lord could finally settle back to his biography and forget about the most heinous interruption he had endured. Sitting back down at his desk, he picked up his fountain pen, filled it with a new ink cartridge, and continued to literarily reminisce on past times.

_"When Emily was younger, and had trouble sleeping after her mother's untimely demise, she often asked me to fill her anxious mind with stories of the past, typically concerning my masked adventures. At first I was reluctant, for I did not want to worsen her night terrors with tales of my vengeful antics. But she was persistent, as was her nature, and I could not deny her wish. Her favorite story was about the Lady Boyles, and their fabulous party in which I had silently infiltrated and snatched one of them away right under the drunken nobles noses. How fair Esma had looked, so lavish in her red costume, sailing away in a peaceful slumber with her dearest admirer, Lord Brisby. Emily loved how much of a mystery the Boyle sisters had wrapped around their identities, making it into a game with their esteemed guests and seemingly protecting them my rancorous grasp, and she laughed at my audacity when I signed my own name on the guest ledger after committing my dark deed. _

_ But why is this relevant to Empress Emily's conquest for the Flooded District? Because earlier this year, in the Month of Nets, a month after her seventeenth birthday, Emily held a similar party. Inspired by my tales and longing for Parliament's financial support for her restoration project, the young monarch decided to throw a charity ball to raise awareness of her dream and guilt the nobility to plunge into their coin purses by holding it on the seventh anniversary of her mother's death. She was a clever girl, and could be shrewdly cunning at times, a quality I fear she learned from me, for Jessamine was far too subtle and trusting to conjure the true reason for the extravagant event. Apart from it being a simple charity ball, Emily was wary of the grueling whispers she had recently learned from her Royal Spymaster about the aristocracy's distaste for their empress' financial policies. They craved Banister's old, conservative, and harsh ways, which had effectively lessened the taxes on the rich by taking what little coin the common people had left. And so she adopted a key detail from the Boyles party, the masquerade ball in which no one knew the host's true identity. Though her game of hide-and-seek did have a snarky twist._

_ Whereas the Boyle sisters openly disclosed their titles and only concealed their given names, Emily disguised herself all together. As her party lingered on, no one knew that their empress was amongst them in the throng of gossiping hens, listening to their every word and even chatting alongside them about how their empress was plunging her capital into debt by taking away their disease infested territory, and caring more for the once walking dead than the ever-present and esteemed living all huddled in her Grand Foyer. She hid herself so well behind an elegantly morbid mask, and I donned my old one after retrieving it from Piero for old-time's sake. Together we learned firsthand who the real vipers of my Lady's court was, and though I hated allowing her to stand and listen to their blatant insults, it was a much needed act, so that I knew precisely whom to watch closely for any subversive thoughts that might have been twisting their minds."_

As Corvo wrote, his eyes drooped and his handwriting grew lax as sleep begged to take hold. A few more sentences, he urged himself, another paragraph lest he forget his words by daybreak. His wrists cramped from the hasty scribbles, his mind wearily scouring for the perfect arrangement of words that would encapsulate his thoughts. Corvo did not know when his writing had ended and his dreams had began, for as he set down his pen for a quick moment's rest, his head dropped onto the barely dry parchment and slumber whisked him away into yet another blissful memory.

* * *

_**Happy (early) Holidays everyone! I doubt I'll have my next chapter up by Christmas, so this is my gift to you—a short chapter XD. Camille is at it again, and we start to realize the real reason Emily is not Parliament's favorite monarch and Banister's true power. The next chapter is another flashback, if you haven't already deduced that yourselves. **_

_**However, it might not come for a little bit. I promised the readers for my other story, "Space Invader, Gladiator" that I would return next month. So from now on, chapters are going to update at a slower pace, especially when school starts back mid-January. I plan to take turns updating each story, so when one chapter goes up here, another will have to go up in my other story before I can resume concentration on this one again. If that makes any sense. **_

_**I promise the climax is coming soon, probably in the next…3 chapters? If I don't get carried away (like I always do). So with that all said, REVIEW!**_

_**Edit 12/20/12: After recently purchasing the Dishonored Strategy Guide, I realized I made a huge mistake concerning the time in which this story takes place. I discovered that Emily was actually 10 during Dishonored, and not 12 as I had originally thoughts. So after some hard thinking, I decided to go back through all my chapters and change the dates from 5 years later to 7 in order to be accurate. All the changes should be in place, however I'm not perfect, and I might have missed one or two dates. If you ever go back and read though a previous chapter, and find a discrepancy, let me know immediately through a pm and I'll promptly change it. She's still 17 in this story, and Corvo's still 37, she's just been in power a little longer that I had originally stated.  
**_


	14. Lady Grey's Last Party: Part One

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Fourteen — Lady Grey's Last Party (Part One)**

_"Are you sure you want to do this, my Lady?" I asked Emily as kept I close to her heels, fearful of losing her in the dense crowd. The peaceful melody of the background string quartet accompanied with the dull roar of the party guests' chatter did well to drown my words, and I watched as my masquerading empress squeezed past some drunken sycophants to reach the large banquet in the center of her Grand Foyer. The spread was a delicious array of delicacies from far across the Isles, including Serkonan blood sausages and fountains of Gristol cider and Tyvian wine. The aroma of sweet jellied eel and salty brined hagfish mingled with the sharp scent of Morley cheeses, but the savory flavors of the giant tuna marinated in exotic Pandyssian spices seemed to overpower all. _

_"Of course I do. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And don't refer to me so formally; you are supposed to be a guest too, remember?" Emily playfully snipped, filling a crystal glass with wine and perusing her crowd for the best place to begin her sinister game of hide-and-seek. That's all this was really—a game intended to fool her esteemed guests into lowering their high guards, as she had practiced on me many times before. Emily was a master of hiding in plain sight, a skill honed by years of practice and one I believe I inadvertently added to. Despite how much I hated putting her so close to these vipers, her sly tongue and cunning demeanor made her the optimal candidate to play this heinous game. Yet her heart was so fragile and her temper renown, and I feared the slightest erroneous statement would shatter her superficial composure._

_ Large, chromolithograph posters decorated the Tower's interior, indicating the function of this extravagant event with illustrations of a restored Chamber of Commerce and the words, "Rudshore Restoration Charity Ball" printed in script at the bottom. The current date, the 14th day of the Month of Nets, 532 AWC (After White Cliff), was written in smaller text under the title. A scaled diorama of the rebuilt district was stationed at the top grand staircase, and gold and cerulean confetti littered the marbled floors. Everywhere the eye could see posh ladies and gentlemen congregated in small factions amongst themselves, allied by type of wealth, extent of power, and their vexed opinions towards their young empress' dreams. Most carped about how drab an occasion it was, or how scandalous it could be considered for being held on the seventh anniversary of their late empress' death, despite how intentional the date was. Luminous, golden chandeliers and whale-oil wall scones impeded the dreary evening sky beckoning just outside the palace walls and bounced off of crystalline glasses, glistening onto their holder's elegantly concealed visages. _

_ False smiles were obscured by morbidly constructed plates of precious metal or porcelain, and I was thankful to receded behind my old mask for an evening, if only to conceal the scowl permanently contorting my expression and souring my thoughts. I never liked parties. Even when the occasion was intended to be uplifting, all the flatterers and prudes with their twisted sincerities hung as a thick smog in the air, suffocating any ounce of genuine cheer that dared to linger in the open for too long. Jessamine was always so affable, even at the most dreary event, and I constantly did my best to hold her high above the smog so that she may have breathed easy, and yet it rose so quickly I feared my efforts were all for naught. Her daughter, on the other hand, little seventeen-year old Emily (who I'd been courting for three months now) wasn't nearly as oblivious. This is not to say the late empress was naive, only blessed with a sincere heart—one that refused to see the vileness of man. _

_ While I was dressed in my former guise, with hooded coat and assassin's mask shrouding my aged resentment, Emily went as someone entirely new, a persona wholly her own, whom she aptly named "Lady Grey" after her appearance. It consisted of an elegant, grey, short-sleeved pantsuit with long, black, satin gloves, a matching lacy, high-collared blouse, and a full-faced mask. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair was fashioned into a pin-curled updo and topped with a low-crowned, black mourning cap with painted nightshades and crepe veil that hung gracefully over her silver mask. The mask itself I had asked Piero to create, for discretion and craftsmanship, and embodied an element of sophisticated macabre that only Joplin could capture. It was embossed with archaic, symmetrical designs across the cheeks, and the eye sockets and lips were mauled with gruesomely morose cracks that gave an almost cross-stitched appearance. Even behind that daunting visage she was the most beautiful woman in the room, contested only by the two Boyle sisters, Waverly and Lydia, though I hadn't spotted them yet among the throng of nobility. _

_ "This party is a sham," I heard one of the guests softly sneer, and at his complaint Emily careened towards the sound, hiding a devious smirk behind her mask and concealing her anxious heart with an aloof gate. The man who had spoken was in a group of three and wore a golden mask. His two companions, another man and a lone woman, were also participants of the masquerade. The other gentleman concealed himself behind a two-toned black and red mask, and the lady wore a Serkonan death mask with floral accents. _

_"Forgive my rudeness, but I couldn't help but overhear. I take it you're not a fan of our empress' little endeavor as well?" Emily inquired, slyly slipping herself into their conversation. The group did not respond at first and shot her snide and haughty glares, and for a moment I feared Emily had been too brash with her eavesdropping and turned them away. Discretely listening to another's words was difficult enough, but boldly inserting oneself into someone's private discussion without raising alarm could be a dangerous feat if they thought you were a rat, "Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Lady Grey, and this is my husband. Surely you've heard of the Grey family of Morley? But enough about me, what were you saying about this party?" she quickly apologized, latching onto my arm. _

_Husband?! My body flooded with embarrassment, and I was grateful to be wearing something to hide my flushed cheeks. She laid her arm against my shoulder and caressed my chest in a most mocking manner, and it took me all my willpower not to shirk away, for she knew my policy against public displays of affection. How dare she abuse this time to be so bold and broadcast her emotions amidst these conniving fiends! Did she not realize how easily her flirtatiousness could be turned against her? However no one knew our identities, and thought nothing of it beyond a loving wife and spouse._

_ "We really shouldn't be talking badly about her Grace while in her home. It'll just bode ill for us all later on," the woman of the group suggested uneasily, swirling what little wine was left in her glass. _

_ "Nonsense! If she didn't want us to talk behind her back, then she would have greeted us formally instead of hiding in her room like an ascetic. Personally, I'm a sucker for fairytales. Wouldn't you agree?" Emily protested. _

_The man in the golden mask nodded in agreement as he continued with the juicy gossip, and he raised his glass slightly in accord, "Indeed. All this opulence is merely intended to provide a false sense of security, and make us overlook the fact that this 'project' is all a farce to cover up the crumbling state of the capital."_

_ "Land is worth nothing anymore," the two-toned gentleman scoffed, his voice thick with resentment, "I hate to invest what little coin I have left in the effort only to lose it all when it's completed. I might as well join the City Watch or the empress' Rudshore Taskforce. It seems as they have more coin lining their pockets than I." _

_It was clear these people disliked the empress' proclamation, and as they continued to complain I felt Emily's heart grow heavy with sorrow. Had she really done this poorly as a monarch? Surely these noblemen cared too much about themselves to truly see how much of an opportunity this could be for them. If only they would invest a little into this endeavor, then they would see how much could be made once everything was completed. In its peak, Rudshore was teeming with prime real estate opportunities, and wealthy men would leap at the chance to own the smallest chunk of land. Had too much time past for them to realize this could all happen again? But without their help, nothing could be accomplished, and my empress' dream would fade with her lovely smile._

_ "Well at least the plague it almost gone and the cure is free to those less fortunate. Surely that must account for something," Emily insisted, hoping to regain the faith she had clearly lost in these subjects. However they all laughed at her remark and her tone instantly soured as she snapped, "What's so funny?"_

_The noblewoman stopped laughing only when she realized the severity of my Lady's tone, and grasped the fact that she was oblivious to the reason for their humor, "Oh darling, how long have you been in Morley? Elixir isn't free. It's about the only thing keeping our glasses filled with this delicious Tyvian wine."_

_I felt Emily's shoulders reluctantly begin to quiver with both anger and gloom as she held tightly onto my arm. Her silver mask turned to stare into mine, begging for an answer, though I had none to give her, "What are you talking about? The unfortunate don't have to pay anything to receive their elixir rations." _

_"And that is what makes it quite clever. Indeed, they don't have to pay, but it's all compensated for in their taxes. It was Lord Banister's idea if I'm not mistaken. He's a genius when it comes to finances; perhaps that's how he came into his money," The man in the black and red mask added, "That skill is what our dear empress is gravely lacking, and why this 'Rudshore Restoration Project' isn't getting any of my coin." _

_When Joplin and Sokolov first created the cure about a year after Emily's coronation, my empress had intended it to be entirely free for all needy citizens in order to end the plague on a wide-spread basis, and not limit elixir to only the privileged. Yet, as these noblemen continued to revel in her ignorance, it seemed as though her seemingly gracious donation had been squandered in the name of money. Was her empire in such need of coin that they would willfully sacrifice the most impoverished that could not pay taxes and therefore were not on the ration list? It seemed being away from Parliament for so long and leaving her court to run her capital had only hidden away the filth and diseased, and not faced them with the brutal reality it was desperately deprived of. _

_Banister. This incident only made me hate him more. It was no wonder the lower classes disliked my empress and saw her as a "Rat Queen", for she was profiting off of their suffering, despite how legitimate this policy was. It was true that in this policy Dunwall had almost entirely been restored (except for the Flooded District) and that enough people were able to afford the tax to decrease the plague population extensively. Practically all governments financed their endeavors with their citizen's taxes, validating their raise through brilliantly constructed jargon just cryptic enough to escape the commoner's comprehension. Though I was no politician, I knew that tensions were high enough when the taxes had been elevated towards the end of Jessamine's reign. And despite how necessary it might have been, it was cruelty to raise them any further than they were back then._

_"Yes, she rather toss us all into debt for the sake of those indigents than realize that sometimes the boldest measures are the safest," the golden masked man concluded. _

_I couldn't stand it anymore. Their words had sunken Emily's heart and I could feel the weight of her soul latching desperately onto me for stability. How dare they speak so ill of their sovereign right in front of her! Their ignorance didn't matter. They were in her home and should be tossing pleasantries into the air, lest a wandering guard overhear their insults and persecute them for slander, "Safety is a one-sided affair," I spat, attempting to restrain my malice as much as possible, "Perhaps if you would take the silver spoons out of your mouths and open your eyes to the world you would see just how gracious my Empress is being by trying to help out those 'indigents' lining your fashionable pockets with coin!"_

_"Your empress?" one of them questioned as their mask tilted with snarky confusion._

_My eyes grew wide and my throat instantly closed as I realized my error. I let my anger get the better of me, and in my rage had denoted possession over Emily's title. It was a style only the highest court officials spoke, and not something a mere Morley lord would have said. On top of that, despite being away from Serkonos for so long, my accent was still thick enough to question my supposed nationality, as my words rolled with that rustic elegance that only those raised under the Southern skies could foster. _

_For a moment I was afraid that in my fury I had blown her cover, but Emily was a smart girl and quickly remedied my mistake by urging me away, "Darling, will you freshen my drink?" she stumbled, handing me her full glass and lightly pushing me backwards. I didn't want to leave her alone to these prudes, but what choice did I have? Though I had been initially fearful that in her petulance Emily would have outwardly protested their complaints, it had been I who had let my tongue slip and pushed her farther into their fire. I wanted to protest and curse these ingrates outright, but where would that have gotten me? So I begrudgingly obliged and took the glass, slinking away into the thick masses._

_ Most of the other guests were sycophants, who marveled at the elegant decorations, or cheerfully listened to the beautiful background music, saying how my empress had spared no expense to throw them a wonderful party, and how this showed her willingness to pamper the aristocracy. But they were liars, all of them, only afraid that their company would rat them out if they boded ill, unlike the brash bluebloods that had torn Emily from my grasp. I retreated back to the banquet table to do as my empress had commanded quickly, for I could barely keep track of her movements by peering through a few other groups lingering around the wine fountains, and my far proximity from her was unnerving. As I neared the fountain of Tyvian wine, my expression cracked into a massive smirk, so much that for a moment I feared it would extend beyond my mask's protection and the world would gaze upon my devious glee. For I spotted Lord Banister, filling his glass to the brim and clinging onto the table for stability. He was clearly rat-legged, as he could not stand on his own without support, and wore only a quarter-faced phantom mask, with emerald green scales inspired after a snake—how fitting. His blonde hair was slicked back and his cheeks flushed from alcohol's sweet embrace. I fought not to openly laugh at his inebriety, thinking instead of what a wonderful position this put me in. _

_ I hated Lucius Banister, if that was not clear enough already, and if I could get him to say something so heinous about this party or my empress' decree in front of me, her loyal Lord Protector, I could toss him into the depths of Coleridge and watch him squeal like the pig he was, well, at least until he regained his sobriety and was released on favors. As I approached him, he turned and spotted me, his glazed eyes fumbling over my appearance as he attempted to stand up straight and look down upon me. He was slightly taller than I, but not enough for it to matter and as he gazed upon my mask his lips curled into a sickening smile._

_ "Oh hoooow sh-candalous," he mockingly slurred, "A bit outdated, yesh, but I'll give you points for creativity." Shocking, his arrogance was even more profound in this state. As if his opinion even mattered to me. I merely rolled my eyes, improperly dumped my Lady's untouched wine back into the fountain, and filled her another glass. _

_"So how do you like the party?" I nonchalantly asked, trying not to sound too interested in his response._

_His hazy eyes lingered down to my ungloved hands, and his demeanor instantly changed into that of a school child, filled with enthusiasm and astonishment, "You, you even got the hand tattoo right! You knooow, they shaid he could control your mind and fly through the air. I dunno if I believe all that, but they made for good stories." He tried to reach out and touch my face, but I flinched away and his momentum nearly carried him to the floor. _

_I hadn't bothered to glove my hands on this occasion simply because I was going as a costumed-version of the Masked Felon, and if I was going to do him right, the tattoo was a necessity. None of the stationed Overseers seemed to care, as they realized (or thought they did) that the real assassin had disappeared a long time ago, and that I was merely imitating him. Besides, the mark of the Outsider was not common knowledge, and I doubted Banister actually knew what it truly meant. _

_"That's nice, but what's your opinion on this restoration effort?" I insisted, irritated that he had changed the subject to rave about my mask. _

_And yet he did it again, his words tumbling out of his mouth with drunken precision, "I wash there the night that the youngest Boyle went missing. I even shaw the Masked Felon and remembered thinking how clever he was exploiting those terrifying events, and dressing just like you are now," suddenly his face paled, as much as it could behind those booze-induced flushed cheeks, and he stumbled backwards in fright "Wait, wait, what'sh to shay you're not genuine? You've come for me thish time, haven't you? Well you won't take me as eashy! Guard! Hel—"_

_Before he finished his plead, I stopped time. Shit! This was not the response I was looking for. I had already nearly blown Emily's cover, and now I was about to reveal mine through inquiring members of the Watch and Abbey. Why did this seem as if my mission at the Boyle's residence had been so much easier than now? I wasn't even kidnapping someone here, and twice already I had almost been made. Had I lost my touch, or was this just a horrible streak of bad luck? Either way, I had to think fast, as the fabric of time was slowly beginning to refold itself. I could hear drops of splashed wine slowly crashing onto the marble flooring, and the orchestra was winding back to speed like a clockwork music box. Speaking of music boxes, the Overseers positioned at the entrance and far walls were craning their necks towards my position, towards Banister's cry. That squawking bastard, if only I could choke the life out of him..._

_That was it! I could choke him out. Everyone was motionless, unable to see my movements and it would only look as if he had downed too much and slipped into a drunken slumber. Besides, it would feel amazing. When else would I get a chance to physically abuse such a high member of court, without it being deemed as treason or lunacy? Decided on my actions, I quickly blinked behind him and grappled around his neck, pulling him into a constricting chokehold. I listened to his throat gurgle painful sounds as he desperately gasped for air to no avail, and he slithered into unconsciousness, like the snake that he was. When time resumed its norm, he crashed onto floor, clinging desperately onto the banquet tablecloth and forcing a few filled wineglasses to tumble sidewise, their bittersweet contents dripping hilariously onto his limp form. When the people rushed to help him, I had already slunk back to the shadows of other party-goers, my mission completed and a sinister laugh uncontrollably echoing from behind my smirking mask. This would be the talk amongst the nobility for the next few weeks—how their seemingly superior Lucius Banister had become so full of himself that he had passed out during my Lady's event, and in his oblivious delusion had uplifted the belligerent aristocracy to genuine fits of humor, so much so that for a sheer moment they forgot their complaints and praised Empress Emily for throwing such an eventful occasion._

* * *

**_HAPPY NEW YEARS! Did everyone make a resolution? Mine is to make it to the climax before March and finish this story by next year, XD. This is part one of this two part-party, simply because it would been god-awful long if I had continued it in the same chapter, and I didn't want to deprive you all any longer. God, this took so long to construct, but hopefully you like it. :) Review?_**


	15. Lady Grey's Last Party: Part Two

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Fifteen — Lady Grey's Last Party (Part Two)**

_By the time I had returned to my empress' side, a large group of various individuals had congregated around the fallen lord. I forced myself to cease my diabolical laughter, lest Emily catch wind of my heinous gesture and scold me for adding to the failures she saw in her party. In truth, I felt it might add a color much needed to uplift her downcast spirit, but of course I would be the one to downplay the seriousness of my actions. Banister would likely remember nothing of what happened when he awoke anyways, and even if he did I would only be the blur that had carried him to his drunken fantasies. When I finally caught up with Emily once more, the three nobles whom she had been entertaining were gone, and I caught a glimpse of Spymaster Mercer's feral cat mask disappearing into the dense crowd. Despite her expression being hidden behind that morose silver visage, I could tell her demeanor had changed. Her arms were crossed and her head tilted down to the side, oblivious of my presence and lost in solemn recollection. It wasn't until I wafted the wine I had freshened under her nose that she snapped out of her delusions and eagerly snatched the glass away from me, lifting up her mask just enough to taste the fruit infused alcohol's sweet release. _

"_What happened to your guests?" I questioned, though I immediately wished I hadn't, for she sighed heavily and leaned her head back onto my chest, and the top of her mourning cap itched the underside of my chin. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms above her waist in a compassionate manner, in spite of the fact that I disapproved of any sign of affection in the public's eye. The night was weighing heavily on her mind and no matter how much she wished to appear strong she needed comfort. _

_A weak laugh escaped her lips and her voice hissed with such sarcasm that seemed to suck the life out of the air, "Oh, my dear Royal Spymaster ruined that venture. He walked right up to me and said, 'Good evening, your Majesty!' And then he told me if I wanted to spy on my loyal subjects, that he was only an earshot away. How did he even know who I was? You should have them scatter, like sheep staring into the wolf's mouth."_

"_I don't like him," I scoffed reflexively. But it was true; all of her advisors and subjects were self-serving fiends, with not an ounce of pure loyalty to allow me to relax around them. It had been the same in Jessamine's court, with that grueling Burrows and less-than-pious Campbell always breathing over her shoulder. _

_My remark must have cheered her up, for a genuine giggle pierced the room as she laughed, "You hate all my court."_

_Was I wrong to though? They constantly perturbed my empress, making our jobs harder while they entertained themselves with sumptuous amusements, "They're all snakes, my Lady," I reasoned, giving a small chuckle alongside her. Lucius was always finding some way to persuade my empress to change her ideals and side with him, Haddon knew everything before anyone else did and flaunted it in her face, and Gregor constantly lectured her with the Seven Strictures and exclaimed how she was being too lenient towards the Outsider's followers. _

_She wriggled from my grasp and hastily finished the remainder of her beverage, sliding down her mask once more to cover an innocent smirk, "All nobles are snakes, Corvo. Even you. It's just where they only have their hiss to startle others away, your bite is lethal. Lord Banister is a cobra, for he will spit in your eyes and make you blind to their world, forcing you to follow his voice to aid your movements. Spymaster Mercer is a python, as he will wrap you in a vice grip of your own misdeeds, constricting them around you until you snap."_

_Me? A snake? Snakes were vicious, heinous beasts whose only purpose was to devour mice and strike at youngling's heels. I wanted to protest her accusation, demand to be compared with something more valiant than a slithering cretin, like a lion or wolfhound, or better yet a hawk, so that I may devour the vipers hiding in the bushes. Emily didn't even mention the High Overseer, but then again priests were not the same as nobles. Besides, I already knew exactly what type of beast he was—a winged serpent that mesmerized its victims into worshiping it, and consumed vagrants whole, "And I? What snake would you reduce me to?" I inquired, crossing my arms cockily as I challenged her analogy._

_She chuckled at my complaint, and her mirth lightened my heart, "Not reduce, silly, for you are the deadliest snake of them all. You, Corvo, are a taipan. While typically solitary and docile, their venom is the most toxic in the entire world. Threaten them and they will strike, and their attacker will not live long enough to regret his mistake." She certainly had been learning a lot from her biology tutor. I never thought she would be fascinated by reptiles. She was always so interested in the sea and its creatures, especially whales, but her metaphor was remarkably spot on. "What happened to Lord Banister?"_

_Crap. I had nearly forgotten about him. I peered over my shoulder towards the direction of the banquet table, watching as two man-servants hoisted him away, presumably to his rail car outside. Playing along with Emily's ignorance, I shrugged nonchalantly, a devious smirk hidden behind my assassin's mask, "He must have indulged himself too thoroughly."_

"_Pity, I would have liked to have given him a piece of my mind," she sighed, setting her empty glass on a waiter's shrimp ball tray as he passed by. Now I was actually thankful I had choked the rat-legged bastard out. It had unknowingly saved me from dealing with Emily's temper, and urging her away from causing a pointless scene. "I need air. This mask is suffocating," she huffed, jerking on her collar to cool her neck. It was rather stuffy in the large foyer, with all the people huddled about in tight groups like the patches on quilted blanket. Our masked facades didn't help either, as clammy sweat stuck to my brows and chaffed against my forehead. _

_ After much struggle, we managed to squeeze our way out of the large front doors, opting to cool off in the courtyard gardens. They were so vibrant this time of year, and the sweet and distinct aromas each different species produced teased my senses. The sun was setting low on the horizon and twilight tore the sky in two. Vibrant orange and purples bled into a sea of stars, and blood red clouds eased the sun's intensity. To protect us from the spring-time bugs, whale blubber candles infused with citronella burned atop wrought iron patio sets, adding a pleasant lemon fragrance to the air. We strolled down to the lower tier of the gardens, far enough from the Tower than wandering eyes could not glimpse upon our company. _

_Emily took a seat at one of the patio chairs, removing her mask and setting it down on the matching table with refreshing exasperation. It was comforting to be able to see her face again, despite how frazzled her appearance was due to some locks of hair that had been trapped under that silver visage and soaked in perspiration for the better part of the evening. Still, even though her eyes hung with exhaustion and her expression was solemn, just being able to see mildly tanned cheeks and honey-colored orbs filled me with such solace. _

"_Corvo, I need you to be honest with me," Emily said so softly it almost sounded like a whisper. Her voice was grave and her attention was turned away from me. Mercer's discovery and Banister's brash nature had gotten under her skin like a bad rash, and she was itching for some comfort to alleviate her pain. Even still, it was mildly disconcerting that she had challenged my integrity by requesting me to be truthful with her. _

_Was it not I who had been truthful about her father's identity even when her own mother would lie to her face? Had it not been me who had divulged the truth about my misdeeds when Havelock and Calista would have sugarcoated reality, or educated her about the Outsider when he had haunted her dreams rather than let the Abbey poison her mind with ignorant teachings? Come to think of it, I had never really lied to her, at least not about the big things in life. Sure every now and again I would cast a small fib when she would catch me cheating in hide-and-seek, or some other menial mishap that would have ignited her temper if I had not, but I had never really lied to her. I gave only a small nod in response, taking off my mask and running my fingers casually through my sweaty hair. And then she asked a most dreadful question possible, one I had not heard in many, many years, "Have I been a good Empress?"_

_ I hadn't heard that question in nearly twenty years, when Jessamine took the throne after her father's untimely death. It had come as such a shock that for a moment I was speechless, and in a situation such as this, any hesitation could be taken wrongly. "Of course," I quickly stumbled, hiding my surprise with a thick coat of sincerity. It was a bittersweet déjà vu, yet Emily's response was far more aggravated than her mother's reaction had been._

"_It's been seven years, Corvo," she exclaimed, holding her head in her hands with angst and her words bleeding with sarcasm, "Seven years! And what have I accomplished? Go on! Regale me with my astounding achievements!"_

"_Well," I cautiously started, searching for a suitable answer, "the cure for the Rat Plague—"_

"—_was created six years ago," Emily mockingly scoffed, "and still the city is not free from the torment of this disease. I'd said I failed in that aspect. Continue."_

"_What about John Clavering Blvd?"_

"_What about it? It's a single, small district. It should have taken a year, possibly two, at most to restore. For Outsider's sake, Kingsparrow Lighthouse was built in six months! Oh, and just whose money financed the Distillery District's repair? Remind me again, for it certainly wasn't the crown."_

_Emily had been greatly dispirited ever since learning about the tax increase that Lord Banister had implemented during his regency without her approval or knowledge. It was understandable, for she was the sovereign of a great empire that had survived for nearly a thousand years, and yet she had been unaware about the crude financial situation in her capital that was instigated shortly after she had first retaken her throne. And though the decision was not meant to be malicious or treasonous, as the rule had been implemented when she was still too young to make such a decision, it did leave her feeling naïve, and I was furious of how powerless I had been against their manipulation. And so I tried to make her understand their decision, to make her see their motivation towards raising an already high impost, and at the same time ensure myself I had not been made a fool. _

"_All government's use tax money to support the city's endeavors. That's how an economy works," I reassured. Why was I defending Banister? Why was I defending a Parliament which had twisted my empress' dreams and used her age to limit her power as they weaseled in a swine to promote their self-serving agendas? My words soured my throat, and it irritated me that I would stoop so low as to acknowledge the logic in their heinous actions, even if it was to soothe Emily's sorrow. But I continued to bite my tongue, as I had already broken composure twice in one night._

_Yet her temper still took over, and she stood abruptly from her chair, iron squealing against the concrete patio, "Is raising said taxes to the point where citizens can't afford them how an economy works, Corvo? Is denying the impoverished elixir and ignoring the continuation of the plague how a society flourishes? I didn't even know about the changes to my plan. Why? Because I chose to leave my empire in another's hands. I ignored my citizen's cries and naively confused ignorance with fact, choosing to reside in a blissful paracosm to escape this bitter reality," she spat, stepping a away from me and crossing her arms to force her shoulders not to quake. She was walking cocktail of emotions—anger, lament, guilt, embarrassment, and the worst of them all…fear, "What if those nobles were right? What if this restoration effort only weakens the city's already crumbling financial stability? For I certainly will not compensate these expenses by turning out the people's pockets." Her voice shook as she thought of the uncertainly of the future, and if her back was not turned towards me I'm sure I would have seen crystalline tears staining her rosy cheeks. _

"_Emily," I sighed, walking up behind her and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "you're only looking at the negatives. It's true; the capital has not recovered since the plague's first appearance, and that raising the taxes was indeed unfavorable. However, the city has genuinely improved. You need to remember, you were only ten when your mother was taken from us, and were not intended to rule for much longer. You were supposed to have a childhood, not be thrust into the cruelty of politics at such a young age. As such, you were ill prepared. What you did in response was not wrong." _

_Gently I turned her around to face me, lifting up her chin with one hand and drying a tear with my other. Giving a sympathetic smile, I resumed my speech, all the while thinking of a young seventeen-year-old Jessamine with an infant child, her raven hair blowing unkempt in the breeze and blue-gray eyes swollen with tears as she stared at me with the same fright and anxiety, "And though you were left out of Parliament's ultimate decrees, you had dreams for your empire. You dreamt of a free elixir, and its close enough to it. You dreamt of a restored Flooded District, and look around you! Surely that drunken snake and conniving cat will give you their aid, and more will follow. Most importantly though, you dream of a Golden Era that will wash over your land and secure a lasting peace and posterity. Rudshore is the key to this, I am confident of it. So do not wallow in the past shadows, Emily, but hold your chin high and look towards the future."_

_Silence past between us for what felt like forever, staring into one another eyes, each with uncertainty about the other's emotions. For a moment I feared I'd inadvertently worsened the mood with my persistent defense against something even I didn't fully understand. I was no politician, no businessman or landholder, and the whole financial tax-rate bullshit did go over my head slightly, which was exactly the reason why I hadn't jumped at the chance to be Emily's regent, or marry Jessamine for political securities. I couldn't blame her for leaving the details of economics to the older scrooges that had been doing it all their lives, rather than trying to take over the show with only minor teachings. I would have done the exact same thing in her place, and would have suffered the same inevitable consequence of not liking what they had done in her absence. _

_Finally, the young empress smiled at me and gave a cheerful laugh, "You always know what to say, don't you?" she said, latching her arms around my neck and tugging me onto her lips. Her tongue forced itself past my teeth and wrapped around my own, and the exotic flavors of Pandyssian spices and Tyvian wine she had partaken in tingled my taste buds. My eyes bulged as I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks and down my body and I reflexively tried to pull away, though I couldn't go very far backwards due to the vice lock she had me in. _

"_No, Emily. Not here. Not now," I gasped, trying to calm my racing heartbeat as I stopped her lips from delving back onto me with my fingers. The Outsider knows how much I wanted to throw her onto that metal table and fulfill her darkest desires, how I wanted to hear her moan my name and writhe in pleasure underneath me, but there were hundreds of esteemed people all congregated only yards from our positions, begging for the next juicy story to fall into their view, and no matter how strongly my instincts wished otherwise, we couldn't take the risk. _

_She pursed her luscious lips to the side and raised her eyebrows, which was never really a good sign, but she actually gave an understanding sigh and released her hold, "Fine," she muttered, walking back to the table and grabbing her mask, "I hate parties." It made me feel slightly guilty that I had denied her and she resumed her sorrowful state, but she understood the consequences enough to intelligently coincide with me for once. That night, however, I would show her the stars and make her forget all of her current struggles as I had many times in the past few months since Fugue Fest. She only needed to stay composed for a few more hours._

_In the end, it was the Boyles who gave Emily the most support (though both Banister and Mercer later sent their blessings and offerings), pledging the most coin and their unwavering assistance for any future endeavors. For after our talk we had caught up with them paying their respects to Jessamine's marker in courtyard pavilion. They both wore the same guises as at their party seven years ago, however cliché it might have been, with Waverly in midnight black and Lydia in stunning white. Emily invited the musically-inclined Lydia Boyle to test our new grand piano, seducing her with details of its whalebone keys that produced a distinct sound such that she had never heard before. Waverly was apprehensive at first, but she always was the paranoid one, deadlocking on the assassin's mask in my grasp, and if she her beauty were not concealed, I would have seen her eyes trembling from fright. _

_I could not blame her though, as my skull-shaped visage had been the same one that had stalked their youngest sister and cast her out on the Wrenhaven. It had been the same one that the City Watch had displayed on their numerous wanted posters, charging the 'Masked Felon' with suspicions of assault and ties to other missing members of the aristocracy, such as the Pendleton twins. And it had been the same one they knew had spared their lives on that fateful night, holding the suspicions they had of my identity to themselves. I was fairly sure at least Waverly figured out it was me; I did leave them decisive proof when I signed my name on the guest ledger after conducting my dark deeds. She stared at that mask as if she stared into death itself, but before she could urge her sister away from my menacing form, innocent Lydia had followed my empress back into palace walls. _

_It didn't take much doing on Emily's part to persuade the two sisters to back her financially. Actually, I'm nearly certain the entire reason they had been so eager was because of me, though I had not breathed a word since the gazebo. Yes, they were truly frightened of what I may do with them if they denied my Lady—if I would handle them the way I had with their licentious sister. They feared their capricious sovereign harbored ill will towards their family's name, as it was their dear Esma's lover, Hiram Burrows, who had had her mother slain, and they thought that in a temperamental bout she would find them all sympathetic to their sibling's treason, however farfetched it was. But fear was a powerful motivator, and little Emily soon caught on to their anxiety, as the Boyle's party story was amongst her favorite tales when she was a child, and she used it to her advantage. It was as if she were the Outsider's little helper, clever and devious, whimsical and fickle. It reminded me of how unlike her mother she truly was, and it was surprisingly alluring to behold. And though I do not know how long it will be before they flee from the strain of their guilt, at least until then my empress could sleep soundly as her dreams blossomed to reality._

* * *

_**I apologize this took so long, like...really long. I've just been so swamped with preparing for the return of school, working on my other story, and I keep getting distracted by my awesome new Gundam model! Love me some Gundam 00! Anyways, so here's the new chapter, tell me what you think. I've been waiting in anticipation to be able to write what's coming next, so prepare for that. Hopefully you'll like it as much as I'll enjoy writing it! Of course, REVIEW! I know for a fact that I have a lot of new readers by the amount of people that have recently followed/favorited this story, so don't tell me you can't take five minutes after reading this to give a competent review. I need good criticism and love, it what fuels me, lol. XD**_


	16. Blood is Thicker than Water

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Sixteen — Blood is Thicker than Water**

It was the third day since Corvo left Dunwall Tower. For three days Emily had wallowed in endless silent mourning, and for three days had she dealt with the incompetency of one Lieutenant Charles Anders. Her temporary bodyguard (or Protector-Regent as Lord Banister had informally dubbed him) actually made the solitary monarch miss her lost lover that much more, as she realized how both complicated his job was and how difficult she was to please. The skinny, red-headed solider was constantly screwing up on the littlest things which the intricate training to become a Royal Protector would have abolished. For example, when they walked together and the empress suddenly stopped or turned a corner "Chip" would either step painfully on her heels, or get lost from view altogether. He was supposed to walk five steps behind her at all times. Not three, not seven, but five. It was incredibly annoying and far from the grace a Lord Protector was expected to emulate in their every action.

Another thing that irritated her was how he continuously called her ma'am. Never did she actually think she would have wanted to be referred to formally or desire Corvo's accidental "my Lady's". Chip was also clumsy; his bootlaces always came untied and his massive height threw him off balance quite often. When he ate, he was a shameless scoffer gobbling his meals like he'd never experienced a quality one in his life. At night she had made him sleep outside of her chambers, claiming it to be a test of his tenacity when in truth she just didn't want her true protector's room being defiled. The only good quality she could actually point out in Chip was his relentless nature towards her security. He was always somewhere near her—despite his varying gate—and followed her everywhere without too much complaint. In fact, the only time she got a moment to herself was when she retreated into the restroom to let out built up tears held back in front of her subjects, before cramming all of her lament deep into her soul and facing the world once more with a false smile.

Chip wasn't even good at swordplay, which made her wonder why General Tobias had even indicted him into her elite unit. After their breakfast, Emily had dodged her math tutor in order to get an extra hour in at sparring practice. It was the only time in which she could feel close to Corvo, as if he was there beside her, guiding her hands. Whenever that metal hilt fell into her grasp, all reality ceased to be and only the two clandestine lovers were left at its core. Of course when sparing against her awkward bodyguard she had used a wooden waster, but even still he couldn't land a single point against her and had been utterly incapable of defending himself against her graceful maneuverability. Perhaps she had been too aggressive against her new training partner, as for the entirety of their duel she had envisioned him as the crazed priest who had stolen away the key to her heart.

Already had she dispatched her dearest Spymaster to listen to the Abbey's walls, and if there was one thing the empress knew for certain about Haddon Mercer was that when he caught a whiff of something even remotely scandalous, he never let go until he knew everything about it and then held it hostage against your conscious. After training the two had retreated back into the castle so that Emily could change into something suitable for brunch and listen to her stuttering steward prattle about imminent court appearances, Parliament dates, letters from other Isles, and any other menial secretarial tasks being a sovereign of a grand empire typically consisted of. A sweaty blouse and disheveled hair was not an appearance suitable for royalty, her chambermaids and governesses had told her a thousand times, despite the fact that none of her court was on agenda to been heard today. As they entered the Grand Foyer and began up the marble staircase, a young woman dressed in a maid's outfit was descending the stairwell and stopped directly in front of them. She gave a small curtsy, whispered a polite "milady", and handed her empress a wax-sealed parchment, which Emily took after mulling over her appearance.

She couldn't have been much older that Emily was, despite how gaunt her features were, caked in thick layers of vividly colored makeup. A primly pressed white apron which looked like it hadn't seen a day's labor was secured around the waist of her black servant's garb, pristine ivory gloves adorned her very pallid, Gristolian skin, and a golden brooch in the shape of a curious cat was pinned clearly to her blouses' collar. The young woman seemed both out of place and yet eerily disguised as she patiently awaited the monarch to read her message and if it wasn't for that brooch placed so openly on her person, she might have thought her an inquiring nature that of an assassin. But there it was—that golden cat—practically screaming who the message was from, and eagerly she tore its seal and scoured the cryptic letter, yearning for any news which could melt the icy prison around her heart in which she had restrained herself.

_"Your Imperial Majesty, _

_As per your request, I've looked into that feral cat you were contemplating on putting down. Though I haven't been able to determine the exact cause of its ailment, my numerous kittens in that area have told me how it cries all night, wracked in distress and delusion. It purrs about a "purifying flame" and hisses about your Grace's hound. And though I cannot say for certain, I do believe a nasty snake bite to be the origins for its anxiety. Given time, it may simply succumb to its poison and die, however not before becoming far more aggressive. Take caution, your Grace, and check under your mattress for this slithering cretin, lest it too strike at your heels while you dream._

_PS: Mr. Holger whispers rumors about an improved music box his tenants are making for him. Should your lost pup find its way home it should be wary of this news, as sensitive ears might not enjoy the sound the newer instrument is intended to produce."_

"Why must he always speak in riddles?" Emily snapped as she finished the letter and folded it into her back pocket. What good were riddles anyways when the messenger was so clearly one of his agents? It would have been much easier on them both if Mercer had just set his poetic ingenuity aside and simply told her he had nothing but random babbling from a lunatic and prattle about a music box to fuel her tirade. His obsession with cats was overwhelming at times, as not only did he use the word to describe the stable of whores "employed" at his bathhouse, but also his agents, his enemies, and even his actual cats which he owned many of.

The palace's front door suddenly creaked open and the thunderous sound of feet stepping in synchrony echoed off the walls and shook the chandeliers. When Emily turned to investigate the sound, she was greeted with the sight of nearly a dozen members of her Elite Guard, all wearing their signature armbands, and a few Warfare Overseers standing at attention behind her two favorite court members—Lucius Banister and Gregor Parrish. Whatever boisterous charade they were scheming had gone far enough. Selecting a guard out of concern for her safety was one thing, but coming unannounced (again) to her home and parading all of her highest ranking officers around her foyer was too much for one day, especially after receiving such unenthusiastic news and watching as her High Overseer's jagged teeth turned up in a sickening smile.

"Lord Banister, High Overseer," Emily strained to keep as calm, despite her flaring temper against the priest's mere presence, "these unannounced visits are growing tiresome. You two really should make an appointment with my steward beforehand if you wish to see me."

Banister stepped in front of the crowd and gave a quick half bow in moderate respect before clearing his throat and loudly boasted with sarcastic sympathy, "We apologize, your Majesty, and swear this will be the last," a gleaming smile stretched from ear to ear as he slicked back a stray lock of golden hair. With fluid grace, he reached into his coat and brandished a wooden-handled revolver. Cocking back the steel hammer, he aimed the firearm at the trio and pulled the trigger.

A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air as a plume of gunpowder and smoke obscured the scene. A pink mist painted the marble stairs and crimson blood tricked down the empress' cheeks like tears as she pushed herself against a nearby wall. Wracked in terror, she choked for air and her quivering gaze locked onto the warm pool spilling out of the meaty pulp that remained of the agent's left eye. Her ears rang with an incessant buzzing from the gun's explosion, blocking out Parrish's and Banister's cruel laughter and the sound of her own screams. Her body yearned to run, to bolt up the West Tower and seal herself safely away in her rooftop panic room as she had practiced so many times—yet she could not move. Her limbs were petrified, like the bark from an ancient tree, and only her pounding chest and uneven breaths held testimony that she was still alive.

"What have you done!" Emily screamed as her panicked cries turned coherent, "You—you've killed her! Have you lost your mind!?"

Banister aloofly tucked his gun back into his jacket and shook his finger at the frightened empress as one would a child, "Oh no, your Grace, I assure you that my mind has been accounted for," he chided. He then turned to Chip, who for the entire time had stood at near attention at the sight of his comrade's formation behind the two court officials, and authoritatively commanded, "Lieutenant! Be a gentleman and restrain the empress."

"What! Get your hands off of me!" Emily screeched, shirking away from Chip as he tried to grab onto her shoulder. Frantically, she grasped onto her sword's hilt and jerked it out of its sheath, pointing it at her disloyal bodyguard, "Guards, are you just going to stand there and let them get away with murder? Arrest them, now!"

Yet none of the soldiers moved from their positions or batted an eye at the blatant usurping, and the lone monarch was left with only a single blade to act as her shield, "I'm sorry, Empress, but they're not going to listen to you," the insidious nobleman said with faked sincerity, "You see, their loyalty lies far beyond the constraints of an ill-placed title. They're loyal only to their General, and he has kindly lent me them to achieve this astounding feat."

The High Overseer stepped forward, his crooked teeth gleaming as he proudly boasted, "My Overseers have already secured the exterior and taken care of the rest of the Royal Guard. No one is coming to save you."

"This is treason!" she yelled, raising her sword to Chip's throat. Her mind raced with thoughts of how to escape the small army rising against her. If only Corvo were there, he could easily have dispatched all of these traitors and swept her away to safety all in the blink of an eye. She was sure she could at the very least dispatch the lanky red-head looming over her, and from there could make an attempt to reach the roof if not for the numerous armed men in her foyer that would surely fill her with holes before she even made it up the steps.

"It's only treason if we intend you harm or remove you from power, which I for one do not. Well…mostly. I only wish to see the throne restored its rightful name, a name your mother stole from my family seventeen years ago," Lucius cockily corrected, taking another small step closer to his sword-wielding empress.

"…and to see someone with a clear mind idolize the Abbey's teachings," Parrish added, keeping at the ex-regent's heels like a loyal dog.

"Don't interrupt me, Parrish," he snapped before turning back to Emily and softening his tone, "Now where was I. Oh yes! You see, Empress, I may be a Banister, but it is not just Banister blood that courses these veins. No, my heart bleeds a proud and royal lineage, one which you share. It was my brother's sacred right as your father to rule the Isles, and your fiendish mother and her lapdog stole both that and him away from the Trinci family, from _our_ family."

The Trinci's? She knew that family name. Corvo had used it a thousand times to argue her desires to be more open with their relationship, or when she had first learned about her father's secret identity. Yet no one except for her mother, Corvo, and her was supposed to know about her hidden heritage, lest the Serkonan monarchy rise against them in retaliation—which seemed to be exactly what was happening. But Banister couldn't be a Trinci. He was from Potterstead, not Karnaca. And if he were a prince, then why wait until now to make such a bold move, without the support of his country or alleged family? "I-I don't understand. My father is —"

"—your father is the late Prince Aeton Trinci V," Banister cut off, "And I'm Lucius Banister Trinci, bastard child to King Aeton IV and Marie Banister, named heir to the Serkonan throne before your father came into this world, and your uncle," a proud smirk peeled open his lips, and he brashly crossed his arms over his chest in an arrogant stance. Menacing chortles churned from Banister's throat as he glared at the young monarch with fiery eyes, "The emperor's title is my family's by blood, and I will be the one to bear its name! Do not fret though, my _sweet_ niece, for I'm not going to kill you…yet. No, there will be a royal wedding first, and I will merge our family names like they were meant to be—with the Abbey's blessing and a grand coronation. Then, you will give me beautiful babies, beautiful Trinci babies, and my father will rue the day he revoked my birthright."

"You're absolutely insane," Emily breathed, the grasp of her blade loosening as she mulled over the impossibility of her situation. Had it all been a deadly ruse? First her Lord Protector and lover disappears because of some jagged toothed priest, then an incompetent bodyguard gets tossed her way, her Spymaster has nothing serious to report despite him constantly knowing everyone else's business, and suddenly her former regent who had been all too reluctant to step down from his ruling position is actually a power-greedy, disowned family member lurking about her court? Her head was spinning and the metallic stench of blood from the deceased woman at her feet was making her nauseous. The only thing still preventing her from completely breaking down was sheer adrenaline, and even still her legs were too weak and fear too thick to run for cover.

"No, your Majesty," Banister cockily bowed, raising his head up to meet her petrified gaze, "Just ambitious."

The scraping of metal against leather tore Emily's attention towards Chip, who had finally drawn his sword as a challenge against her. This was it, the moment of true bravery. She could either drop her weapon and become a prisoner, or fight for her freedom and nation by risking her own life. Her amber eyes narrowed and her sword's hilt creaked as her grip tightened. Without even waiting for his response, she lunged, watching the clumsy soldier nearly trip up the steps as he stumbled backwards to evade her strike. At least she had an advantage, for as she had mentioned before, Chip wasn't good at swordplay. His movements were too elongated and far too easy to read and then riposte, from which he could barely recover. He swung and slashed against the air as if he wielded an axe, and Banister cursed at him to just disarm her, else he accidentally wound with all his mindless flailing. But Corvo had taught her well, and she was just nimble enough to elude his sporadic advances. Ducking, parrying, dodging—when their blades met again they were halfway up the marble stairs, and Emily quickly dipped her sword under his and pulled, sending his weapon over the railing. Reflexively she seized the opening and struck, sinking the blade into her guard's stomach and twisting the handle in glorious victory, listening to Chip scream in agony.

It was in that moment that Emily remembered it was not a mere training sword she had buried into Chip's gut. For bright red blood channeled along the sword's fuller and dripped onto the stone steps. As he weakly coughed and choked on his own fluids, the crimson liquid seeped down the corners of his mouth and he stared down at his tiny attacker with a look of immeasurable pain and confusion. Panicking, she let go of the sword and he fell to his knees, continuing to gruesomely gurgle and spew up his blood. He locked gazes with the terrified female until his eyes turned cold and the light slowly began to fade away. When he finally tumbled backwards down the stairs, sword still erect in his abdomen and the small rat charm dangling off her bloodstained tassel, Emily's composure completely shattered. She had taken a life, and though death was no stranger to her, the fact that this time it had been she who had delivered the soul to the Outsider's doorstep had thrown her over the edge.

In an instant, she bolted up towards the West Tower, oblivious to Banister cries and his lackey's footsteps as they chased after their fleeing empress. She flew down the hall, tore open the tower's door, and jolted up the metal spiraling stairwell, her boots echoing up the high walls. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision, and her panting breath fueled her burst of speed as she quickly reached the rooftop access, and flung open the door. If only she could get to her saferoom, her impenetrable saferoom, then she could hide away until Corvo came to the rescue as he always had. As the brightness from the midday sun washed out of her view, strong arms constricted around her body and pulled her into the white light, preventing her from running to the bunker only yards away. She kicked in flailed in her captor's grasp, flinging her head back and biting the air in a desperate attempt at freedom.

"Good…job…Tobias," Banister panted as he made it onto the roof. The stalwart general only gave a small nod and low grunt in response as he tightened his hammerlock on Emily's arm and watched to her writhe in pain. As she squirmed in Tobias' grasp, staring at her bunker that was so close yet so far away, she realized how truly helpless she really was without Corvo by her side and naïve it was to believe that history would never repeat its darkest of days.

* * *

**_So…school started back. And my schedule is CRAZY BUSY. T_T Which unfortunately gives me even less time to write than I already had. So expect intervals like this one, or even longer between chapters from now until Spring Break, simply because I have no time to do anything I want to. Am I ignoring you all? Not in the bit, I just have a busy busy schedule and I don't know when I'll be able to do any writing besides in between classes (which I'm going to abuse). You're just going to have to bear with me._**

**_ANWAYS! It's finally all revealed, everyone's a douchebag! As if you didn't see that coming already. It wouldn't be called "The Vileness of Man" if all men weren't somewhat well…vile. REVIEW, of course, because I need much loving on this one. I've waited so long to be able to bring this chapter to you all. I hope you enjoyed it. :)_**


	17. Two-Headed Giant

**The Vileness of Man: Mission Seventeen —Two-Headed Giant**

Dunwall Tower was completely locked down in less than an hour following the Empress' capture, and yet no one outside its walls would have looked upon the seized palace with any more suspicion than usual. In fact, the strangest sight a passerby may have acknowledged was the pair of Overseers standing erect at the Tower's main gate in place of her Majesty's typical guard. However, any qualms raised at this seemingly minute change were either overlooked by the simple commoner or quelled with the looping announcements from the Broadcast Tower of a royal wedding between their beloved sovereign and parliament member Lucius Banister that would be held later that month, ended with a reassuring "Long live the Empress." The courtyard patrols had been interchanged with mindlessly loyal Overseers, their wolfhound companions snarling at their sides, and Tobias' few dozen Elites roaming the Tower's interior kept the panicking servants in place. Dunwall Tower had become a secret prison to all those unfortunate enough to be inside its walls during the raid, which besides Emily had included numerous servants, a full kitchen staff, a skeleton maintenance crew for the hydraulic waterlock, the groundskeeper, Royal Interrogator Morris Sullivan, the Empress' stuttering steward, and her former governess and current etiquette teacher—Callista Curnow.

What was left of the massacred Royal Guard was tossed into the sea, left as chum for the hagfish to pick at. Of course there were a couple escape attempts on part of the staff, but their participants were met with the same watery fate. After the incident on the roof, the empress had been locked in her room, guarded by a few of the general's men at both entryways and one stationed out on her balcony, in case their captive decided to chance her fate. Bleakly, Emily sat on the edge of her bed in a disturbed silence, staring at the wooden floor with pink misted bangs hiding swollen eyes. Her ivory blouse was dyed with pleated patterns of deep crimson and crusted brown, and her signature white bow had fallen from her hair, reluctantly allowing her pinned-up curls to cascade over her shoulders. It had happened again. Once more it had been proven that the only stability the Kaldwin family held was secured in their protector's name and that he was the first and only obstacle that could keep the demons at bay.

Their entire family's dynasty had been riddled with trials of treachery even as far back as her grandfather, the first Emperor Kaldwin, whose health had declined so suddenly that rumors of foul play were muttered only slightly louder than the scandal of Jessamine' pregnancy. Then her mother had been assassinated in front of her eyes, and despite how white the pavilion's marble floor shined, Emily could still spot the stains. Now it was her turn. For how long would this macabre pattern continue given an endless supply of heirs, or would their eventual demise be prevented before they took breath in this vile world? If only Corvo was there…

_TCHIKT_. The sound of the chamber cell's lock clicking out of place distracted the disheveled empress from her dreadful thoughts as she watched a friendly face appear through her doorway, the first one she had seen since Corvo's disappearance.

"Callista!" Emily gasped as she charged her former governess, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist in bountiful glee. It had been too long since she had seen a genuinely kind face, and yet as her mentor smiled down upon her, a water jug and basin preventing the frightened girl's embrace from being returned, her faint expression seemed to be filled with more pity than joy. But before Emily could inquire about her anxious nature, the hulking mass of muscle that made up General Tobias shadowed their reunion. Reflexively, Emily's nose crinkled and a low, unmannerly grumble repressed the roar that dared to leap from her throat at her general's presence, though his tiny black eyes reflected no evident malice or any emotion other than mild amusement that barely furrowed his sharp widow's peak. If only she still had her sword, she would have ran it through this traitor as she had her lanky guardsman. But Lucius Banister had claimed it as his trophy while it rocked side to side in Chip's eviscerated stomach—its hilt's tassel waving the Empress' colors like a battle standard and its small rat pendant clanging against the stained steel.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Callista's voice softly sang, her soft auburn hair falling from its messy bun. The two women and their intimidating chaperone retreated across the room until Emily resumed her place at the end of her bed and her beloved mentor began to wash away the remnants of the gory encounter. She brushed out the dried blood soiled her majesty's mid-length hair, cleaned her salty cheeks, and Tobias actually had enough dignity left to turn his back long enough to allow his prisoner to be changed into a clean corset, as the stains had seeped that deep.

"How's the staff?" Emily grunted as her new girdle's laces were pulled tight, her solemn inquiry muted with discomfort.

"Frightened, but they'll endure," Callista assured, slipping a freshly pressed blouse over the young woman's arms, "As long as they know that their empress is safe."

A sarcastic sneer pierced the air as Tobias rolled his eyes at the women's touching exchange, just loud enough to pull Emily's attention away from the guilt she felt for her imprisoned subjects and repress the fear that strangled her heart long enough to remember the reason that Lucius' coup had succeeded in the first place. It was all her general's doing. It was his guards that had lent their strength to the banished prince and his arms that had stopped her from reaching her bunker. Why, though? Tobias had served her mother diligently until her death and of course the traitor Burrows afterwards, but that was only because he was the "rightfully" declared Regent, right? Tobias was even the one that arrested Hiram once his crimes were unveiled. Why turn against the crown now, after so many years of service?

"Of all the people who've turned against me today, General Tobias," Emily started sternly, feeling the anger inside begin to grow once more, "you were by far one of the last I expected. Explain it to me. You've served this dynasty since nearly its beginning. So what in the Void have I done to you to turn your allegiance?" her voice threatened to shake as her fire evaporated the sorrow, and her knuckles turned white with pressure as she strained to maintain an even head.

And yet the officer's sarcastic demeanor did not cease with his sovereign's hot-tempered inquiry. In fact, it actually grew as he dismissed her petty attempts to make him shutter, because for once the hierarchy of power was overruled, "My allegiance hasn't been turned, _Empress_, in fact it's never been stronger," he cryptically answered, crossing his tree trunk arms over an inflated chest as he declared, "Lord Banister told me everything. He told me about how after the last dynasty died out your menial family was thrust into the limelight only because your granddaddy spoke loud enough in Parliament. He told me how the emperor's title was taken from his family by your cunt mother and how she covered it all up with her lies."

"Don't speak of my mother that way! Have you no respect for the dead?" Emily screeched, jumping up from her bed in fury. Callista instantly grasped onto the teenager's shoulders, restricting her from any reckless thoughts that could get herself killed.

Tobias' nostrils flared and his upper lip pulled up over his teeth as he seethed, "You stupid little girl, you have no idea of how deeply I despise you Kaldwin women. You're all weak and lazy. You lack the skills to properly lead and yet you're so shocked when people suddenly hate you. When was the last time you've been past John Clavering Blvd, or out of this tower at all? Have you even gone down to Rudshore, in which you've thrown all the capital's money into, and witnessed the throngs of Weepers and rats that you claim don't exist?"

"I never said they don't exist! I said the plague is mostly harmless. We have the cure and it's free now…I made certain of that."

"Watch as a man's face gets chewed off by one of those walking corpses or a group of guards devoured by some wandering rats and then tell me how harmless this plague is. I wasn't even appointed general until Hiram's reign, and even then the paranoid bastard treated me with more respect and authority. You Kaldwin women have ruined this throne, tossed it into debt and disease."

Rage swallowed her words as she thrashed against her tutor's protective hold, "You ignorant fool! It was Burrows who brought the plague! Not my mother, not me!"

"Yeah, and when I found that out I arrested him myself. But what did your mother do to fix his mistake? Nothing. At least he realized the severity of the mess he created and opted for the more extreme measures. Your mother's heart was too sensitive, and it bled too much for those already lost. That's what killed her. You've done no better. You enlisted the help of foreigners to resurrect the dead, when we should have just drowned them all."

"You—"

The squealing of the chamber door's hinges cut into her words as her self-declared fiancé whisked himself into their heated quarrel, golden locks billowing with the door's opening gust and a small silver sword bobbing at his hip. An eerie silence befell amongst those present, all who stared at the newcomer with individualized feelings. Tobias ceased his demeaning mockery to bounce into attention and look over his new commander's head with a prideful salute. Emily's face scrunched with malice and her fierce eyes sparked as she stared into her usurper's soft blue orbs, a gentle smirk and boasted contentedness reflected within. And Callista, poor Callista, merely gazed toward the traitorous lord's feet, for that was all that she could do.

"_Her Imperial Majesty_, Emily Kaldwin I, Queen of Gristol, Empress of the United Empire of the Isles and all of its Realms, Defender of the Faith, and Vanquisher of the Rat Plague. You have such a long title," Banister gibed, Serkonan steel singing as it slid from its hilt, "And this is a _nice_ sword. Balanced, sleek, fashionable. A bit on the small side, but it does the job, obviously. You must introduce me to your blacksmith. I need one of these to wear at my coronation." With an aloof flick of the sword's blade, Lucuis ended Tobias' salute and the general moved into action, grabbing onto Callista's arm and forcefully jerking her away from her wrathful queen. This immediately spurred another fit of outbursts, as the frightened empress screamed for her beloved tutor and bellowed obscenities and empty threats to both her captors, to which Lucius responded by greeting her neck with her own blade to keep her from charging the defiant general.

Her chamber's door slammed shut as Callista was dragged away, leaving only the pair of half-Trinici's staring heatedly at one another, one with a sword to the other's throat. Yet for as livid her exterior fumed, a deep anxiety had been cut in her heart as she worried over her teacher's fate. What would happen to her now? Callista was the niece of the City Watch's chief constable. Would her usurpers take a chance and release her as an act of good faith, or take the other risk of worrying Geoff until he came to inquire about his kin's disappearance, only to run right into the middle of their conspiracy? Lucius wasn't the type to gamble unless he knew everyone else's hands, just like Mercer, who had seemed like he was only catching whiff of Banister's ruse by the time it had been set into action. Mercer…where was he? Certainly he was an even larger threat than mere Callista, if he was a threat at all. For Haddon always knew everything in advance, and yet he had overlooked such a massive plot? It didn't seem right, and Emily didn't know who to trust anymore, not that she really knew in the first place.

As Lucius withdrew the sword, he began to shadow spar in the middle of the room. Swinging the metal with fluid grace, he imitated Emily's graceful maneuvers from earlier, and at the same time boasted his apparent skills at swordplay. Certainly he wasn't as refined as Corvo, but his royal and noble lineage had clearly allowed for some substantial training. This only made him a larger threat than Emily had originally believed. For not only was he an amazing politic and a good shot, but now also a decent swordsman.

"I didn't actually think you'd kill him but you were like, OOF, right in the gut!" he jested, pressing the pommel into his stomach and letting his head fall forward and blonde hair cascade over his visage as he faked death. A cocky grin peered from his shadowed façade as he whispered, "I guess Corvo's 'late night sparring lessons' really did pay off. Then again his sword probably doesn't even equal the hilt of this one, hm?" Emily's eyes grew wide with his snickering remark, and before she could conjure a retort, he cut her short, "Oh don't look so surprised, dear niece. I knew he wasn't your father and how obsessed with him you were. It was only logic from there. Your mother turned him down and so he just settled for you, is that how it worked?"

"Shut up! They were just friends! You of all people should know that," Emily hissed, clenching her teeth. He didn't know what he was talking about. Of course her mother's death had hurt them all deeply, but that didn't mean that Corvo had loved her. If he had, he would have told Emily and certainly she knew him well enough by now to know his feelings with or without his acknowledgement. Then again, she didn't even know if he even loved her. It wasn't as if he had ever outwardly said such, or even attempted to foster the words. Why did it even matter? Her mother was gone, and even if Corvo had felt something for Jessamine when he was Emily's age surely it was too long ago for those emotions to still be there. Besides, he was with her and she still loved him dearly, despite how complicated their relationship was. "Where is Corvo? What did you do to him?!"

Banister rolled his eyes as he plopped down in a nearby chair and dropped his boots shamelessly on top the accompanying table. He then took hold of her sword and forcefully drove it tip-first into the wooden flooring. A small gasp pierced the air as Emily slapped her hands over her agape mouth, a look of sheer horror and disgust petrifying her gaze at her swaying blade stuck in her floorboard. That was Serkonan steel! It wasn't made for piercing wood. He was going to dull it, or worse, break the tip. This was torture. What was he going to do next? Trim the hedges with it? Use it as a kitchen knife? That was her most prized possession and he was treating it like it was a mere toy. She had to get it back before he did some real damage.

Lucuis ran his hands aloofly through his golden locks, flicking his wrist nonchalantly as he answered, "Hopefully he's dead in a ditch somewhere by now. Parrish was the one responsible for taking care of him, I only told him about his tattoo."

His tattoo? He knew about that? Corvo always wore gloves ever since she found out about his gift years ago. The only time he ever took them off was if he was taking a bath, sleeping, or alone with her, and Banister hadn't seen him in any of those situations. Even if by some off chance he had spotted it, surely he wouldn't have known what the brand symbolized. Only few people outside of worshipers of the mark's owner and Abbey members could recognize the symbol for what it was, and certainly this pompous prince wasn't one of them.

Noticing the dumb stare his prisoner was giving, Lucius scoffed and added, "Don't play dumb, girly. You forget, I did live here at one point. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a memento from his prison days, but then I remembered the Masked Felon had a similar brand. I shrugged it off as mere coincidence, seeing as they were both criminals, until your little charity ball last spring, when you tried to sicc him on me. So I went and asked Haddon about the mark and he rather begrudgingly told me how it was the symbol of the Outsider. I knew Parrish would jump on the chance to annihilate such a high standing court official, and that was all proof I needed to make up some farce about black magic and spoon-feed it to our beloved Overseer."

Mercer knew about the Outsider? Wait, of course he did, he knew everything—everything except the fact that his "lifelong rival" had been plotting against his empress for who knows how long. What a coincidence. Hadn't Lucius become incredibly drunk and wreck the banquet table before passing out at her charity ball? Was that the reason for his hatred and consequential treason, because in his inebriated state he thought that she had ordered Corvo to assassinate him? "I never tried to kill you! If this is why you hate me than it's all just a mistake. You can stop this now and I'll pardon your treason and—"

"Enough!" Banister barked, slamming his feet on the ground as he abruptly stood, "I'm doing this for myself and my brother. I'm going to right the wrong your mother did, to avenge his murder and claim his lost title."

"Then you shouldn't have waited this long to do something! If you had spoken out when you were still my regent then your family would have actual had a legitimate claim." Now what was he bantering on about? Her father wasn't murdered. He died on a voyage to Pandyssia, Corvo had told her such and he had never lied to her that she knew of. How well did she really know the man she loved, a man who supposedly loved her mother before her and had killed her father? Surely he had his reasons, but that fact didn't help alleviate the headache spurring from this endless anxiety.

Emily could feel the bed springs creaking as her fury begged for her to leap off her bed and charge her foe. If only she could reach her sword, then maybe she would stand a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless, more of one she would have if she just sat there and did nothing. Besides, Banister had explicitly stated that he didn't plan to kill her, so perhaps in his hesitance she could gain the upper hand. Though she wasn't a fighter, she wouldn't allow herself to become a puppet to someone else's hand. Not again. The grandfather clock chimed loudly as it began its hourly song, booming thrice to greet the midday air. Silence persisted between the two figures while they waited for the clock's mantra to end. Lucius stared at the barren fireplace, backed turned to Emily whose gaze was locked on to the upright blade.

"You're right, for once," he laughed as he walked closer the furnace. The cold coals blackened the hearth and ashes grayed the frigid stone. A lack of fire had made the chamber rather chilly, and if it wasn't for the anger consuming the empress' disposition, she probably would have been feeling its effects. Grabbing a matchbox from the mantle, Lucius bent down, struck one against the heel of his boot, and flicked the flaming stick into the bed of coals. They began to smolder as he gently breathed life into the tiny embers, and when the fire had finally been birthed he began to speak once more. "I could have approached Parliament while you were still a minor, revealed my heritage, and demanded blood rights for my family, but then it wouldn't have been me that would have been emperor. No, not the bastard child. Besides that, I was actually content with being your regent. Surprising, I know, but I was honored to serve the crown in a way I would have never been able to do even if my father hadn't disowned me. I even understood that my position was only temporary, and that once you became of age my services would no longer be required. Yet I held out hope that when I resigned you would have at least kept me as personal advisor or elite consul and not just throw me to the wind and call upon me whenever you needed a breeze to cool the sweat off your brow.

"You spat in my face. All the hard labor I've done and you repay me by kicking me out of the Tower, revoking my tax plans, and sending your assassin to silence me? And you wonder why Parliament never backs your plans. You've done all this to yourself. You're a poor politic. Some of your braver citizens might worship you for this 'Rudshore Taskforce' you've dangled like a golden carrot before their noses, but you've completely abandoned the class that's financing all your costly endeavors. First you beg for our support, and then you cut the commoner's taxes and pile the difference onto us nobles. Here's a quick school lesson for you. Politics 101: You never overtax the ruling class." Despite the malice intended in Banister's words, his voice was unnervingly soft. A weak chuckle passed his lips as he mulled over his words, outstretching his hands to bask over the newborn flame. He was getting tired. Tired of yelling and fighting, and tired of trying to make a stubborn teenage girl understand his motives. If wasn't worth the effort. In the end it was he who had won, and whether or not the young monarch realized her defeat was not his problem.

Yet that didn't stop her from contesting his supposed reasoning, tempers flaring as she yelled, "You didn't inform me about the raised tax!"

"You were twelve. What did you want me to do? Outlay the complexities of percentiles and income rates to a spoiled royal brat? All you needed to do was dream and play your childish games with that Attano mutt, and leave everything else to me." Lucius groaned as he rubbed his temples. Emily's incessant shouting was giving him a headache, and he had about given up on even trying to combat her relentlessness. How did Corvo put up with this woman? She never shut up or backed down even when she knew she was outmatched. It almost made him want the Serkonan dog back here, for at least he would be able to make her be quiet.

Now was her chance. His back was turned and he had exhausted himself through arguing. He had dropped his guard, and she was ready to seize this precious moment, "They're not childish!" she screamed as she sprang from the bed and charged her foe. As she jerked her sword out of the floor, Banister whirled his head around to catch glimpse of the raised steel before falling backwards into the fireplace. A plume of ashes intercepted Emily's blow as she swung downwards through the cloud, accidentally crashing her blade against the marble mantle. Lucius burst out in a fit of hacking coughs, his throat aggravated by the thick screen of soot, which was just loud enough to overpower the slew of obscenities Emily spouted as she stumbled away from the blinding haze. The commotion must have signaled the balcony guard, for as she backed away from the billowing hearth, muscular arms constricted around her form like a vice grip and her sword clanged onto the ground as she lost her grip. "Let go! Let go!" she cried, wriggling around like a freshly caught flounder.

Suddenly her head jerked to the side and her cheek began to burn as the echo of her skin filled the room. Her shouts ceased instantly as the smoke cleared enough for Banister's form to come into view directly before her, hand raised into the air as he panted and gagged for clean air. He…hit her? No one had ever hit her, and the unpleasant tingling sensation muted any attempts to formulate a halfway coherent response. His black suit and golden hair were masked a dusty grey, and he looked like a chimney sweeper that had just excavated the interior of her furnace. His blue eyes were swollen and red, and a vindictive scrunched his features as he chided, "You wretched woman, don't you understand! I've won. This is my Tower and no one is coming to save you. I don't know how to make you realize that, but at least I know how to shut you up now. So I'm going to leave now to start planning my coronation. And from this moment onwards, you'll be a good girl and act the blushing bride or I'll make you wish I had handled you like your mother. Are we clear?"

Pain immobilized Emily's defiance as she stared down at the ash-covered prince's boots, her mind focused on the foreign tingling sensation traveling up her jaw line. It was such a strange feeling, an unpleasant ache, and such a demeaning and humiliating act that it had completely shattered her willpower. After re-confiscating her sword—which now had a large chip in it due to its impact on the marble hearth—Banister stormed from the room, leaving soft white footprints wherever he stepped. When the guard released her and resumed his post, Emily couldn't help but fall to her knees and begin to softly weep. The tears turned her ashy cheeks a muddy grey, and as she stared down at the soot covering her floor, she began to draw.

"_Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner…"_ she started to softly sing as her fingers traced the outline of a small rat, with a crown for an added touch, _"Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner." _Where was Corvo? How long would it be before he came back for her? As the image of a dead snake with crooked fangs hanging from the crowned rat's mouth took form, a small smile pulled at the edges of its creator's lips, _"Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner, early in the morning."_

* * *

_**O.O Holy hell. Two months? TWO MONTHS!? What kind of computer store makes me wait an entire month for a part, only to make me get blasted with midterms right as it comes in? Ugh…anyways, without further ado...TA-DA! A really really long chapter, all for you. For those who thought that this chapter would be all about Corvo, don't worry that one's next. I had to go into depth on the reasons behind both Tobias' and Banister's plot first, and as always, I got carried away with the detail and dialogue. Oopsy? Well, I hope you enjoyed, and as usual…REVIEW!**_


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